Another Sad Story

3.

We met when we were 12, dumb introverts in middle school. I was reading a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's classics in the hallway instead of the lunchroom when the scrawny curly-headed boy walked over to me.

"Yet mad I am not...and very surely do I not dream," He quoted the black cat.

"Excuse me?" I grinned, I was instantly attracted to him, not by looks but by intelligence.

"Chris Mercutio." He smiled. I sat in silence staring into his hazel eyes, forgetting how to speak.

"I think you're supposed to say your name now." He chuckled.

"Right, sorry. I'm Stella, Stella Porter." I blushed. "Wait, Mercutio? As in William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio."

"I guess." He smiled once more. "You're a bookworm, huh?"

"I guess," I mocked. "Books are fun and adventurous."

"I agree, sadly I do not read as much as I would like. I'm super picky so I'm bad at choosing a book. Maybe you can recommend some books?"

"Maybe I can." I smiled.

Ever since that day we were inseparable, I will never forget the first time he ever witnessed me having an episode. We were halfway through the school year. It had been a while since I met him since I had one, in fact, it was as if he helped me not feel that way.

We were in class when I all of a sudden got a massive wave of sadness. Following that I felt like I couldn't breathe, my chest was tight and my head was spinning, I had tried to shove it off but I couldn't. He had stared at me confused. We had gotten so close and told each other everything, except for this, I avoided telling him about this, the real me. He continued to ask if I was okay, every time I replied that I was, I was okay. He knew something wasn't right and it wasn't until we got back to his place when I couldn't keep it in any longer, the pain was starting to bottle up, then I exploded. He never treated me differently, he understood and he always tried to help me. That's when I knew I loved him.