a long way from home ; g.d.

e i g h t e e n

I removed myself from his arms and took a step back. He was still smiling like crazy, and had his hands locked together behind his neck, staring at me.

"You what?" I asked, maybe a little too abruptly.
His smile grew, and he lifted his gaze up to the ceiling. "I love you," he said simply, like it's been said a hundred times before.

"Grayson, come on. You don't love me."

His whole facial expression suddenly changed. He dropped his hands from his neck, and the smile fell from his face. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course I love you."

I was in complete shock and in a state of utter panic. I couldn't even process what he was saying. "Gray, we've known each other like two weeks..." I said quietly.

He dropped his head and sighed. "I know," he looked up to meet my eyes. "But it doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does, Grayson. We were complete strangers not even a month ago. Not even strangers, but, like, completely unaware of each other's existence."

"I know, Elle, but I don't care. I'm in love with you. I'm helplessly in love with you. It doesn't matter how long we've known each other, I know how I feel. And it's love."

I put my hands over my face and ran them up and through my hair. I turned my back on him and took a few more steps forward. "This is insane."

I heard him take a few more steps toward me. "Is it, really? I mean we've had an amazing past two weeks, almost three, actually and we've become so close in that small amount of time. You're my best friend, Elle. I mean, I feel like I've known you my whole life."

I could feel tears forming in my eyes. "I don't know what to say," I said quietly, my voice cracking. "It's too fast, Gray. You can't fall in love with someone in two weeks, you just can't."

He rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous. I tell you I love you and you're trying to tell me that I don't just because we've only known each other two weeks? That I'm insane or something?"

"I never called you insane, I just said this whole situation is insane."

I turned around to face him, and I really wish I hadn't. His face was full of shock and hurt and confusion. All the emotions I'd hoped I'd never have to see on him.

"Well, I know that's not what you mean, I'm not stupid, Elle." His voice became meaner, and a little bit louder.

"Are you really gonna get mad at me for being logical?" I said, my voice as loud, maybe louder, than his was.

"No, I'm mad because you're being stubborn. You can't tell me how I feel. If I say that I love you, that means that I love you."

"Well I don't believe you. No one else in my whole life has ever truly loved me so why the hell would this be any different? Especially after only two damn weeks!"

His face wasn't hurt, or shocked, or confused anymore. It was blank, which was worse than any expression or reaction he could possibly have right now. It was hard to see through the tears in my eyes, but I know I saw tears in his as well.

It was quiet for a minute, and this time, it was awkward. Something we've never had. After what felt like forever of this ear-splitting silence, he sniffed. "I'm gonna go," he said quietly.

"Whatever," I said, sounding a little too mean, without even meaning to. I cringed at my tone, and I wiped a few tears from my eyes. I got defensive when I was upset. Like some sort of cornered shelter dog.

He must've noticed my voice, and took it as a sign that I wasn't up for discussing this. He scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Bye," he snapped. He walked over to the door, ripped it open, then slammed it shut.

As soon as he walked out, I fell onto my bed, dropped my head in my hands, and cried. And cried, and cried, and cried.

I hated to admit it, but at times like this, I think what I needed more than anything was a mom. Not necessarily my mom, if I had a choice, just a mom. Someone understanding and supportive. Someone to tell me that I was okay, even if I knew I wasn't.

But the saddest thing was that my mom isn't even an option. For anything anymore. Then I remembered someone better. Someone totally understanding and supportive.

Wiping a stream of tears from each eye, I grabbed my phone from my backpack and flipped up the top half. I scanned the disappointing list of only seven contacts I had, and finally found his name. I pressed the green "call" button and pressed it to my ear, listening to it ring.

"Chavelle?"
"Hey, Gus."