The Boy I Hate

Thirty Two.

My heart was getting used to hurting. I'd experienced enough fights, fall-outs, and breakups in the last year to last me a lifetime. There wasn't one person I knew who I hadn't been angry with at least once. I'd grown accustomed to arguing, forgiving, and moving on. I'd also learned the beauty of moping around feeling sorry for myself.

That's what I was doing now; walking around my own house like a ghost. I watched friends reruns, got ahead on all my homework, and tried to stop myself from feeling the pain. I hated to shower, because that's when I was left alone with my thoughts. Left alone to remember the boy I'd lost. It was the best place of any to remember, though, because the sound drowned out my tears.

We hadn't even dated. Not really. Why did it hurt so bad? Why did it hurt as bad as when I broke up my two year relationship with Richard? If not, worse? It didn't make sense that I felt some of the worst pain I ever had over a boy I'd only kissed four times.

My mom must've noticed my mood. One day while I was painting my nails and listening to Britany Spears in a robe she knocked on my open door lightly. I flicked my eyes to her for a moment and refocused on my toenails. "Need something?"

"Just checking in," she shrugged. Margaret, with her hair down for once, took a couple strides forward and sat on my bed. She lifted her own feet up, took a pink color I wasn't using, and began to paint her own toenails. "Your bruise is looking lighter."

My fingertips shot up to my black eye as I remembered that I even had one. It didn't hurt to press it anymore, which was good because it had only been a week. I forced a smile, "good. I'm running out of concealer."

She nodded, sighed, and acknowledged the elephant in the room. "Gonna tell me what's been up with you lately?"

I pressed my lips together, focusing on the big toe.

"Mabel?"

"Ugh," I finished up my last nail. I closed the cap on my bottle, and instead took the one from my mother's hand. I elevated her leg to rest on mine, and started painting her nails for her. I needed a distraction if I was going to talk about this. "Charlie and I kissed a couple times."

She breathed out a light laugh, "why is that making you so upset?"

I buried my face in my shoulder a little, groaning. "Well, he decided we shouldn't anymore."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm moving to New York at the end of the summer, and school ends in a month. He was planning on a scholarship to NYU, but since he lost the game he doesn't think he'll get it. It's just not realistic to start a relationship now. Long distance statistics are horrible."

"I'm glad you two want to be responsible," she mused, "but statistics only matter in political or scientific discussion. Statistics can't control your life choices."

"They can be a guideline."

"I guess," she reasoned, "but you should know - statistics are never 100%. What's the horrible long distance stat you read, huh?"

"60% of long distance college relationships result in a breakup in three to four months."

Margaret smiled gently. "Mabel, don't you think you could in the 40%? Don't you think, if you're determined to make it work, that could be you? Still with Charlie four months into college?"

I finished her last toe, twisted the cap on the bottle, and threw it on my bed. I turned around and laid my head in her lap. She fiddled with my hair. "What about after that?"

"What about it, Mabel?" She gets this stern look. "It doesn't matter if you get with somebody when you're 18 or 40. There's always a huge chance you'll break up. That's just part of it." I almost spoke again, but she kept going, "and even if you do that doesn't make it any less worth it. Do you regret ever being with Richard?"