alive | ethma

19.

emma chamberlain

I never wanted to be the girl who's feelings were intertwined with the actions of some boy.

The girl who's world stopped because a boy broke her heart.

But, here I was, standing in front of Ethan. The boy who stopped my world with every glance, the boy who was so in control of my mood at all times now.

The boy who was able to throw away our relationship like it was nothing.

My hair was a mess, my mascara from yesterday still lingered on my cheeks, and my sweatpants were stained with grease from the pizza I had for breakfast.

This was not how I envisioned Ethan professing his love for me.

But somehow, despite it all, despite all the pain, he still made me feel like I was living in a fairytale book.

Except this one couldn't have a happily ever after, as much as I whole heartedly wanted it to.

Ethan made it very clear during our fight that he couldn't stand who I was to my core. He hated my optimism, he hated my perspective of life.

He didn't love me.

He loved the thought of me. The thought of a happy go lucky girl, the girl next door.

We were the kind of opposites that always meshed well in books, but I finally realized this was real life. Opposites may attract, but they don't always work.

A single tear streamed down my face. I wanted this. I wanted him. So badly.

I smiled softly at him.

"You don't love me, Ethan." My mouth quivered as I held back several other tears.

I could feel my body failing, so I slowly started to shut the door before he could witness it happen. But, his strong hands held it open with ease.

His mouth was slightly parted, his brown eyes desperately searching mine for an answer.

"I was scared." He rushed the words out of his mouth, fearing I would try to slam the door on him again.

I scrunched my eyebrows together in confusion, urging him to continue.

"I was scared because with you, I really could be happy," he paused and stared at the floor. "And I'm not sure if I deserve that."

I could feel my facial features soften.

I wanted to be mad, so mad that I wouldn't be able to ever look at him again.

But I couldn't stop admiring the small freckle on his nose, or the way his lips curved when he talked. I couldn't ever stop looking at him.

I took a deep breath, and admitted to him and myself what we both already knew but didn't want to believe.

"Maybe you do love me," he eyes widened with hope, "but you aren't ready for me."

I slowly shook my head while staring at my feet, my eyes no longer being able to meet his. It caused more pain than I could handle.

I started to shut the door again, waiting for him to object, but he didn't.

The door closed with a quiet click.

Leaving me with just my thoughts.

I knew in that moment that my tears would blur the remainder of this memory.