“Let’s leave,” I said.

I pulled open the twin doors and was greeted by a blast of frigid night air. It was not dark yet, but the purposeless sun had lost its usual warmth. In addition the air carried a light breeze– though inconsequential alone– accompanied by the chilly temperature it caused all street goers to scatter to the safety of their homes.

Except us. I wanted to be alone with him, if only for a few minutes, and the coldness gave me a sense of insulation and coziness in that I was warm while my surroundings were cold. It was not romantic in the slightest; there were no twinkling stars (only low-flying airplanes) or jazzy music (only stray dogs barking). Yet I thought I felt more in love than I had ever been.

We sat on the cement sidewalk– me settling clumsily, pulling my dress down to cover my numb thighs, him scooting in beside me to touch thigh-to-thigh, knee-to-knee. He knew my cold hands– always teasing me about becoming a vampire– and grasped them, trying to share his body heat.

“What does this time mean to you?” he said.

“Every time is different. I can’t compare them,” I said.

“So I’m the same to you? So I’m like the other times?”

“No.”

The sidewalk overlooked a deserted street, yet I still I focused intensely on the empty road. I didn’t want to look into his dark eyes at the moment; I didn’t want to miss him while he was still here.

“I miss you. I will miss you so much that I’m already starting to miss you now,” I said.

A cat screamed nearby and I shivered. He pulled off his sweatshirt– my favorite one with the warm inside lining and the peeling ADIDAS label– and handed it to me, saying nothing. I wore it over my dress, knowing it appeared as if I weren’t wearing anything underneath but not caring.

“I’ll see you again. I’ll come to you,” he said.

“I’ll show you all the cool places when you come visit.”

Silence. We couldn’t deal with separation; we didn’t know how to cope or shape our relationship around it. We didn’t know how to act or even pretend to act; instead we solely focused on when we’d be together next, ignoring the gaping months in between.

“You’re going to forget about me,” he said. I could tell he was fishing for a denial.

Everything about this moment was too lovely yet too tense. I felt so beautiful in the way he kept on glancing at me, then holding his stare far too long. Yet at the same time I felt like shrinking away, already trying to break my bridges before this went too far.
I lay my head on his knees. His jeans scratched against my sensitive cheeks but the material just gave me a sense of our closeness. My hands– buried in the extra-long sleeves of his sweatshirt– wrapped around his knees.

“Ask me anything,” I said.

“When is your birthday?”

I told him.

“What is your favorite color?”

I told him.

“Can you tell me what happened with your last “guy friend”?” he asked. I could tell he had been saving up for this question; he asked it with just enough sensitivity and casual carelessness that I knew he had thought it through carefully.

“Quinn you mean.”

“Yes.”

Be matter of fact. “He told me I was ugly, and that no other guy would ever like me,” I said, my voice muffled under layers of warmth.

Silence. He didn’t know what to say. I had trapped him in a way, between consoling me and wanting to know why.

A lone car whizzed by; I oddly was not startled; I felt so protected by this person next to me. I reminded myself not to become dependent on him. I convinced myself I was not dependent on him.

“How do I say this? Rebecca and Emily are both beautiful girls, but you stand out. You sparkle,” he said.

My face was cracking into a smile that I tried (not hard enough) to stop. The cliched line made me cringe in embarrassment, yet a guilty part inside me liked it more than I could admit.

“You’re just saying that.”

“No I mean it, you’re different. I don’t say it often.”

I laughed forcedly. If I had read his words in a teen-lit novel or magazine, I might have skimmed over and moved on. Yet the effect these overused words had on me made me wince. I was so happy, yet so completely embarrassed for looking to another individual to give me self-worth.

‘How do I get away?’ I thought. I was glowing in the light of his compliments, but I had to remember that I didn’t even want to like him anymore. He was a self-indulgence to me.

“You listening?”

For a moment, I lifted my gaze to brush back his cappuccino-colored hair from his forehead. Seeing him, seeing his butterfly lashes sweep across his cheekbones and his large nose wrinkle, I realized what a child he was. He trusted me so much, I knew, and he looked up to me. But he also wanted me.

‘I have to get out of here,’ I thought. I craved him in the way that a Barbie longs for her dressmaker, not for her Ken. Sure, I loved him, but I couldn’t indulge or gratify myself any longer if I knew no one would benefit.

“There you are,” a face poked out from behind the wall. “We’ve been looking for you two. You’re wanted inside.”

“Thanks,” I said, quickly raising my head off his lap. I moved away from his touch.

I got up and watched him stand up, then walked back inside without waiting for him.