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How many times have I seen his face in these halls? Ever since seventh grade when he moved to my school. His gray eyes grazed by, paying no attention to me. I was just another girl in the hall. Crumpled leaves lay tangled in my hair, and my sweater? Well, let's just say it isn't the newest. As he walked by me in inhaled his musky scent. If only he knew what I was capable of. He'd be at my side before you could realize what was happening.
I'd just have to wait. It was only a matter of days before it happened again. I follow the crowd to English. As I take my normal seat in the back I think. In less than ten days, it'll happen again, and he'll be gone. I'll have to wait another sixteen years before I see him again. Maybe I won't see him though, but then again, there's no way to stop the inevitable.
In eight days time we've spoken our first words to each other. I wish he wouldn't talk though, I wish he'd move and save himself. But I couldn't tell him any of this, well I could, but what would be the point? He'd be dead either way. Maybe if I keep him from asking me it won't happen. We'll go our separate ways and never know of each other after this day.
"Hey, Lucy, do you... Uh, want to go to the movies with me this weekend?" We were in the library, and I was stupid enough to come. He asked, and now he's declared dead.
"I'd love to go. Saturday 4:30?" I ask. Even if he's going to be gone, I can spend a few hours with him.
"Sure, I got to go. Bye Luce." He gets up and strides out of the library. I sit behind thinking of what's to come. Tomorrow when we sit in the theater, he'll be dying inside. Just like he has every time he's come back. See we've gone back ever since people lived in caves. We came back falling in love with each other every life time, but never making it past sixteen. I’ve remember every bit of it, from the first day we met to when he helped me catch my first fish with my bare hands. He on the other hand, remembers absolutely nothing.
Every time he asks me on first date, and ever time he's died the next time. I've been sixteen for over a thousand years. I try moving across country, even continents. No matter how hard I try to get away, he comes back. It's the inevitable and a punishment. Because of me Brent will never find love, or get a job. All he gets is to live up to sixteen; well at least he could drive.
The next day after the movies, Brent and I walk out of the theater. I was surprised he had lasted this long, it was 6:00 in the evening. I don't recall him ever lasting more than twenty-four hours. But here he was standing in broad daylight. What was making me upset was that since he made it this long, he'll probably die in his sleep. I wasn't sure how but every time he's just died slowly. No wounds or injuries at all.
Maybe it was the fact music and sound effects came booming out of the theater that I didn't hear. Or maybe it was how bright it was out that the trucker didn't see us crossing the street to get to the parking lot. Next thing I know Brent's pushing me out of the way and the trucks veering away from Brent. The truck has stopped and before I can think straight my feet are sprinting over to Brent. Thankfully he's fine, just quite a bit of scratches from the pavement. Then I realize his head is bleeding, and it hits me that he rammed his head into the curb. He takes one look at me and goes unconscious.
It's over, he's gone. And like always I couldn't save him. The trucker runs over to me explains how sorry he is, and takes out his phone. Before I can stop him he's calling an ambulance for Brent. He doesn't need one. He's dead, what's the point? All I can do now is lay his head in my lap, and cry over his dying body. I have done this so many countless times, I couldn't start to count even if I wanted to.
In the background I heard faint sirens coming up. Before I knew it they were carrying Brent to the ambulance, me following after. Tears were drying on my face, and the people sitting in the back of the ambulance with me kept asking if I was all right. I couldn't tell them, so I said 'I'm fine' repeatedly. I must have been tired, because before I knew it I was out like a light, resting my head against the wall.
Weeks, months, a year, a decade. Brent never left. I wasn't sure why, but he was. We grew up together, and now we're engaged. I never forgot about that day, and play the scene over and over again. Maybe it was because he saved me. Maybe it was because he was willing to give himself up. As many times as I went over these questions in my head, I never came to an answer. Eventually I learn to forget it, and it never bothered me again. Brent had lived, and so had I, the cycle was broken. That's all that I care about.