And then I made the second mistake in a string of many mistakes. I went back.
I worked across the street for a law office… Not as a lawyer, no, never a lawyer, but a secretary… I just had to pay my way through college and then I could do whatever I wanted. I wanted to be a writer, much to my father’s dismay, because I was never good at sports or math… So my options seemed limited until I started reading, until I started writing, until I started living silently in my own world.
It’s sappy, and dorky, and it just barely gave me a reason to wear cardigans and ties on a regular basis and pull of the “gawky dork boy” look, but I loved it.
I loved the way paper smelled, I loved the way ink would drown out the white on a paper to create something so beautiful that comprehension went out the window… How something so simple could create an emotion so complex baffled me and I loved experimenting with it.
I walked through the door, relishing the soft musty smell of old books. She was there, this time pouring over a book on great American literature. I felt as if I should recommend something to her offhandedly, but I never did… Instead I circled like a hawk, “randomly” going from one book to another, reading the backs of them as I watched her, completely fascinated.
It seemed odd, but I had turned this into a routine. I would go on Tuesday nights after pay and I would browse. She was always on a new subject, and always disorganized in everything she did from organizing the books on the shelves to putting the money in the register when I bought something. I smirked whenever I saw her try to reach something tall, and I would politely help her… She must’ve been five feet tall and I towered over her at six foot three. She would thank me happily every time, always going off naturally about a tangent that probably had nothing to do with the matter at hand, but I didn’t mind.
I did this for months, every Tuesday. And sooner or later, I learned the mystery girls name. She called herself Annette, her full name was Annette Werring. I made it a point to learn about her, bits and pieces started to click together as time went on and I started to consider her more than… the girl I stalked at the library. I considered her as a friend as I categorized and labeled everything about her… Since that’s what people with my kind of mind do.
She claimed not to be scared of anything, but I had seen her cringe at the thought of public speaking. She thought cowboy hats made her look fat, and she loved the color red. She actually did cut her own hair, and dyed it herself as well. I was always tempted to touch her hair, it appeared to be soft like a baby’s and small wisps always managed to escape the shiny clips and bands she would pin in it. She was rubbish at sports (as I could tell by her inability to walk in a straight line) so she retreated back into her natural intelligence.
As a child she was alienated from the other children because her mother was a few screws loose of a nut case and was convinced she was a child prodigy. She spent her days learning piano pieces from Mozart, reading books that were meant for college children, and overall listening to the ranting’s of a woman who was stumbling her way into madness. I figured she was terribly lonely as a child, even though she insisted she wasn’t. Just a bit confused, learning things far beyond her age did something to her mind to make her think in such a different pattern than the common mind.
She was fascinating to me. Every little bit about her.
From the way her small nose scrunched up when she couldn’t find what she was looking for, from the way she had a habit of tripping on her own two feet, how she could look out the window and say that it smelled like she imaged Chicago would smell… The oddest things were the best things, and she sure had a way of thinking that kept me on my toes.
What does Chicago smell like, anyways?
It was around this time I found out she had an older brother. She didn’t talk about him much, only a few sentences were mentioned. His name was Connor and he hadn’t really played a part in her life.
She changed the subject almost instantly off of him.
I wanted to ask her out… I wanted her more than I wanted anything else, more than I wanted to get through school, more than I wanted a job that was not filled with high levels of estrogen… More than I wanted anything I could remember.
But, the trouble with innocents is, you never know what they want… She could have felt the exact same, or the complete opposite, and I would never have known any different. She had a habit of never revealing when she was upset or when she didn’t like something. It was like she was trained to take everything she was given, internalize it, and give back the only emotion she was good at. Happy.

I figured I had to share her with someone one day, no one ever really went into the store except for some older men who were more interested in the cushioned chairs that adorned the back wall. I happened to have one existing friend from childhood who managed to follow me through life, working in a mechanics shop down the street…
He had a funny way of one-upping me in everything I did. Girlfriends, jobs, cars… Really, anything he could win at, he would.
Which is why I was nervous of bringing him with…
But I had gushed about her one night when I had drank one or two… or seven too many beers with him. I started to voice everything I had been thinking, every small detail I had documented secretly in my mind… And he insisted he had to see this girl. This girl who had taken over my neatly organized mind and flipped everything upside down was now running through his mind as well.
I did not like the idea of this.

She was supposed to stay in my mind, it was like I had paid her rent for her to stay forever in my mind… But he had his stupid wheels turning, and I could see ideas forming behind his deep brown, nearly black, eyes. He had a habit of also getting me in trouble, which I found equally annoying.
His name was Marcus and he had everything girls wanted… Muscles like a dancer, just tall enough to put his head on top of theirs, big, liquid brown eyes that pleaded with your very soul, and a smile that just didn’t quit.
Meanwhile, I doubted I had any muscles, though my wrists were pretty damn strong… From all the… writing… Damn, I’m a dork. And I was usually about two heads taller than girls, my body gawky and made of limbs while my messy brown hair fell in my eyes, covering my dull grey eyes. I preferred to slip into the background rather than stand out…
I was unusually good at being ignored by women, to be honest.
I did have a nice smile, and I was polite… Girls liked that about me, my easy going passion that managed to work its way into a few special conversations I had with women. As long as I got them talking to me, I was set. I could work a woman from vertical to horizontal in less than half an hour if given the chance to speak.
But Marcus just had to make eye contact and they’d open themselves to him.
Literally.
How was I supposed to compete?
And I begrudgingly led him into my sanctuary, my safe place… My one chance at a girl who wasn’t counting her calories, wondering what everyone was thinking about her, and she was surely the first girl I had met that refused to wear heels… She wasn’t meant for him, she wouldn’t fit against his chest like she would fit against mine…
The door made the sound of wind chimes as we walked in, a damp summer air hung around us like a disease. I took a deep breath of moist air as I watched him scan the tiny store quickly, his eyes locking on her body as fast as a vulture would latch onto a small mouse… My breath caught. It was painful to breathe when I saw his eyes scan her entire body from her perfect pink lips to her clunky brown shoes…
I wanted to tear the gaze away from her, she was too fragile and too perfect to have someone’s eyes roaming over every crook and crevice… Even I hadn’t let my eyes wander too much, I didn’t want to destroy what I had worked so hard to achieve, her friendship. Even if I did perhaps want something far more, I would never risk the fragile relationship I had grown to have with her.
I wasn’t sure what to do, I panicked and cleared my throat and she spun around, a book open as always.
I took a dry gulp as Marcus made his way closer to her, holding out his hand with perfect manners. I watched, helpless, as he had perfected his mannerisms to fit any girl he wanted. He was polite for the girls that were all about appearances, he was rough with the girls who wanted to be tossed around, but I had never witnessed him as becoming intelligent for a girl like her. A girl I wanted, a girl I was already intelligent for.
But he took to the role perfectly, even stealing a few things I had said about her to him… the wording perfect, the diction sublime, and by god the presentation completely overwhelming as I saw her blink surprised.
“He’s… You’re Trevor’s friend?” She looked like the air had been stolen from her lungs. Her mouth formed a small, pink “o” as she stood there, her entire mind working to get itself back on its feet.
“Yes, I’m a friend from his high school, actually.” He grinned, good naturedly, and let one of his eyes crinkle in more than the other. I wanted to shoot him… “How… do you know him?” He let one of his eyebrows shoot up ever so slightly, his eyes roaming down further than her neckline and my blood boiled, my fists clenched and my entire body grew rigid. How in the world did he get farther than I did in ten minutes than it took me nearly ten months to get?
“Yeah, high school.”
Fond memories.
Ugh.
He had always managed to one up me in everything we did. In baseball, I was starting pitcher until he just happened to try out as well… In women, he always managed to find the best of the best in both appearances and personalities. To be honest, I felt bad for the women he used… There was something more than casual in the possessiveness he would have for only a few brief weeks before dumping her like all the girls before her. And while I was a secretary… He owned his own auto shop just down the street from me. He was making good money, living in a two bedroom apartment without a roommate… I lived in something that could resemble an apartment… It has two bedrooms as well, but I share it with a man who likes to keep everything in even numbers and is paranoid of flooding…
We live on the seventh floor.
Anyways, it’s not like I was matching myself up against him often. It was easier to just accept it. For there were things, secret things, that I was far better at. Writing was the main one, something I hadn’t even gotten the courage to show my parents. Pathetic, yes, but I didn’t care when I was making sure every single participle dangled off the end of sentences in the exact way I wished them to. I’ve even allowed myself to feel smug when I had finished some of my work, like I had won a small battle…
But I simply tucked the story away with the others and pretended as if I were good at nothing, the fun clumsy boy who hadn’t quite found his way yet. I played the part very well with messy brown hair and the clothes I wore sliding off of my unusually slender body as if I was just made for living. When I was younger people would look at me and think: boundless energy in those boundless limbs.
I have energy, yes. I have quite a bit, to be frank. But I never quite had enough to fill the standards they were expecting.
But as I stood there, watching them converse politely, small glances thrown at each other wearily, I wanted to run. I wanted all of that energy to just expel itself as I ran for my life, my sanity, whatever I had left as he took yet another thing from me. But this wasn’t just a “thing”.
This was a person.
A girl, an innocent girl that I wanted as my own.
And she didn’t know what she was in for as I stood there, not running, not speaking, just thinking.
I’ve lost her and I never even had her.

He had asked her on a date in thirty seven minutes, to be exact. I counted. And as he walked out and I gave him a casual wave, she turned to me, biting her lip and making it pink.
Shoot me?
“Trevor, I don’t know about this…”
Wait, wait, hold that bullet for a moment.
“I can’t go alone! I barely know him!”
Perhaps you can just shoot me in the foot.
She stammered on her sentences and I forced my smile to be calm and collected, as always. “Hey, don’t worry about it. He’s a great guy, you’ll be great!” I smiled again, ruffling her hair. I felt sick, I wanted to go home. Actually, I wanted to tell her everything about him that wasn’t great. He wasn’t great… I was?
But instead I bit my cheek until I tasted some blood and smiled once more down at her, comforting her as she panicked.
“I can’t, I can’t, I’ve never done something like this.” She looked up at me, her big green eyes frenzied more than any other girls would have been. I would have teased her for it if it weren’t for the situation I had been led, like a sheep, into. “Go with, me, please, Trev.” She used my nickname, of which she was the only one who used it, and grabbed my hand in an attempt to sway my decision.
Little did she know, I would do anything for her… Anything but this. “I don’t know…” Go with them? On a date?
“It’ll be fun! You can have a date too! You’re so cute, it should be easy for you, I just don’t want to be alone.” She twisted her mouth nervously and looked at her feet, her grip on my hand increasing ever so subtly. I had to wonder what had made her so scared… But I didn’t dare question it. I had never asked for more than she was willing to tell me, which had somehow gotten me into her friend circle… From which I could assume was small. There was something broken inside of her that had her disconnected from the reality that everybody else lived daily. Something outside of her little book shop scared her…
And I didn’t know what it was, but I did know I could help if I tried…
If I held her a little closer, if I told her it’d be ok…
“I’ll be there.” I forced a happy, carefree grin on my mouth and she smiled back, true relief flooding into her glass green eyes. She grinned up at me and I nearly melted. Control. The key to this game was control. If I could keep control I’d be fine, I’d find someone else to keep my thoughts on eventually… I’d forget about her soon enough.
I didn’t want to… but I would.
I knew I would. I had to.
So I found a date.
Dammit.

I found a date without an issue, to be quite honest. I had a friend from childhood that still lived in the area, her name was Rose O’Malley, the girl who stole my crayons and challenged me to arm wrestling contests (and won) throughout my childhood. A classic tomboy, loyal, tough, and mean.
I owed her for saying yes.
She knew both Marcus and I, watched us through high school, more of my friend than his. She watched as he single handedly beat me in everything I strived so hard to achieve, almost pitying me. It was pitiful to watch, I’m sure, as I so eagerly attempted everything I could, so proud of myself every time I succeeded only to look to my left and see Marcus had done it three times better and hadn’t even broken a sweat.
He was a damn Greek God or something.
She was an attractive girl, though, long brown hair, big blue eyes, skin that never showed any signs of stress or age, and a body that had so many curves she could’ve been mistaken for a swimsuit model at first glance… She could be very pretty to me if I hadn’t watched her go throughout the awkward stages of puberty, nothing where it belonged, so I forever saw her as nothing but my sister. I forever saw her as the girl who insisted we played cowboys and indians, her as the cowboy just so she had a reason to tackle me to the ground and laugh about it.
I think I should make new friends.
Anywho, she took pity yet again on me and said yes as long as I promised to pay her for the night. It reminded me of prostitution without the sex, but I wasn’t one to complain at the moment.
We were all meeting for dinner at a diner, a favorite first date place for Marcus. Rose and I decided to walk, neither of us had money for a cab because we were both very close to broke. She was wearing jeans and a college sweatshirt, her hair unbrushed, no make-up on her face, and glasses balancing delicately on the bridge of her nose. “Good to know you dressed up for our date.”
“You never said I had to dress up.” She smirked and me and stuck out her tongue.
“So mature.”
“You know I am.”
I stuck my tongue back out at her, getting pulled into her childlike mindset where nothing really mattered as long as it was for a good time. She grinned again, taking a deep breath before saying, “So Marcus just met her…”
“Yep.”
“And now they’re going on a date…”
“Yep.”
“But you like her.”
“Yep.”
“Why is he going out with her?”
“Because it’s Marcus.”
“Yep.”
Our conversation stopped in a mutual silence, both of us understanding our friend very well. I rubbed the back of my neck nervously.
She spoke up again, “Is she pretty?”
This took me off guard and I looked up at the sky, which was getting dark rapidly. “The prettiest…” My voice was barely a mumble as I shoved my hands in my pockets, wanting to avoid the subject all together. I didn’t want to let another person know how much I valued her presence, because, obviously, the people I told just took her farther away from me.
“Smart?”
“She runs rings around the both of us.”
“Is she a good person?”
I knew what this question secretly meant. Did she deserve the way Marcus would soon destroy her virgin heart, playing a game of cat and mouse just like he did with every girl. Attentive for the first bit, then he just replaced all the love he once so willingly gave with new insecurities, tearing girls apart from the inside out. One girl in the past, Johanna Webber, reacted so horribly, none of us ever spoke of it again though it constantly lingered in the back of our minds.
My silence served as answer enough as it went back to silence, both most likely thinking of the same exact thing. “If she’s good, then why aren’t you fighting for her?”
Good question… I had no answer except for the fact that I truly believed I couldn’t hold a candle to him. I couldn’t be able to promise her better when I knew I physically and mentally wasn’t…
I ignored her as we neared the diner, opening the door politely for Rose, who sauntered through casually as if this were an everyday occurrence. The bell rang through the stale air like a crude alarm clock telling me it’s time to wake up and smell the burnt coffee. I saw them in the corner booth, on the same side of the table.
I smiled, muttering a curse under my breath that Rose heard as she purposefully nudged me painfully in the side. “You want me on your side?” She hissed as we moved closer stiffly, under her breath through clenched teeth. “Make me an offer.”
“I will do all your essays. Every single one.”
“Anything else?” We were getting so close.
“What do you want!?”
“Sex.”
“Wha-“
“I’m joking, do all my essays and clean my apartment.” She rolled her eyes as I tried to regain composure, sliding into the booth, the cushions squeaking under our new weight. I smiled again, feeling very much like a puppet as I started to calculate just how many essays she would be needing done and how she was planning on being on my side.
Oh god… I had to clean her apartment. This was a murder mission.
It was awkwardly quiet for a second, Annette looking slightly panicked as she looked across at me, biting her lip nervously. “Hello,” she mumbled, almost inaudible.
“Hey Trev.” Marcus was loud and carefree, like usual, not even noticing how uncomfortable everyone else was. I could feel Rose inspecting every inch of Annette, my own cheeks getting pink as Marcus started some sort of conversation that was about him winning some award or another, bathing himself in a golden light of epicness. Typical.
Annette was wearing lip-gloss and that was all. Her lips were pink and shiny as they stayed in a small line that she would bite on every once in a while, nodding where she was needed, eager to comply. She was wearing jean shorts with rips in them that looked as if they were over ten years old and plain white shirt, her bright blonde hair only making her complexion look milkier and more pristine than he had seen it before. He sent her a grin and he saw her body relax, her shoulders sagging a bit more, her posture no longer as rigid.
Rose glanced between the two of us, ignoring Marcus who was still going on about something. “How did you two meet?” She meant it for Annette and I, but Marcus took the chance to answer instead, grabbing Annette’s hand in his own.
She was shocked for a moment, but there was no protest. “We met at her book store, did you know she owns it herself?” Rose nodded appreciatively while I scowled, thinking that I knew that months ago. She owned it on her own and barely survived off of what she earned, no one interested in books much anymore. “Trevor introduced us.” Marcus beamed proudly, grinning at Annette who blushed appreciatively, smiling back shyly. Where was the nearest exit?
Rose turned to Annette, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “How ironic, Trevor in a book store.” She grinned.
“Why is that ironic?” Annette tilted her head curiously.
“Didn’t you know? Trevor writes books… Well, tries to write books.” I heard Marcus scoff softly, smirking as if my writing was a point in his corner… Why, Rose? Why?
“You do!?” She smiled, a genuine smile. “I want to read them. I’m sure you’re talented.”
“He is, he’s really good. He loves to write, always has. He can write rings around most guys.” Rose smiled and leaned back in the uncomfortable booth we were in. “He’s quite the catch, if you ask me.”
“I think so too. Writing is the best way to know a person. When you read what someone writes, you learn nearly everything, don’t you? It’s so honest.” Annette took a sip of her water happily and I saw Marcus raise an eyebrow. “It’s like, in every book, if you read it enough, you’ll know the person who wrote it.”
I nearly choked. “You want to read my stuff?”
Marcus interjected. “That’s nothing, he doesn’t let anyone read it.”
“That’s not true!” I panicked.
“Then why haven’t you let me read it? I’m your best friend.” He smiled smoothly. If I could really answer, I’d have said something along the lines of: You can’t even speak correctly, how the in the name of hell are you supposed to be able to understand what I write!?
“Because you haven’t asked…” I didn’t know what to do. If I had any say in the matter, I would have promptly ushered everyone out of the diner, ordered waffles for myself, and ate them in an attempt to fill the empty bit in my heart…. The feeling reminded me entirely of my chubbier middle school days. Ah, the fond joys of middle school.
Instead I ordered what a normal adult would order: coffee. I hated coffee… Felt like the caffeine could help the situation, though. My heart was slowing down to the point where I was starting to worry about my health. It was like every nightmare I had ever dreamed was coming true right in front of me and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
It was like I was running from the monster under my bed while simultaneously trying to survive the Titanic while I battled every single one of my teenage insecurities.
I couldn’t wake up.
I sipped at the coffee, Marcus had ordered an ice cream sundae for them to split. Rose ordered a hamburger, of which I was expected to pay for. Typical.

Two nights after the “date”, Marcus came over to my apartment. He picked the perfect time as well, for my roommate was having a slight panic attack and hiding in the bathtub. I, however, was watching Jerry Springer and trying to drown out my ever insistent thoughts with copious amounts of alcohol.
“Hey bud, whatcha up to?” I just glanced at my half empty glass. I was pretty sure I smelled like a liquor store, but I wasn’t quite in the mood to care. “Ah… Good times, huh?” It was semi pathetic how he didn’t even register why I was so upset.
Instead he sat down next to me and poured himself a glass as well.
“I gotta tell you, man, that girl-“
“Annette.”
“Yeah, that girl, she’s pretty amazing.” He smiled to himself.
“I know.”
We both took a sip at the same time, a grin pasted on his lips. I sighed, wondering why my choice of friends was so skewed compared to normal people. Most people could depend on their best friend to be there, I could depend on mine to conveniently not be there.
“You don’t mind, right? That I’m dating her.” He didn’t take his eyes off the screen where a midget was kicking a toothless girl in the shins. Classy TV. “I mean, you seemed kinda fond of her…” Another sip.
Kinda fond of her? Kinda? He was lying to himself. I went on for an hour and thirty seven minutes about how amazing I thought she was. I had never gone to him about a girl, ever. This was why. I had described the way my heartbeat got giddy when even a thought of her passed my mind, how the faint scent of vanilla would bring me back to her bookstore, and how I still desperately wanted to know if her hair was as soft as it looked.
That was kinda to him.
I stayed silent, not wanting to lie… I was a bad liar. I just shrugged, wondering why I wasn’t fighting harder. Why I was screaming at him, screaming that I wanted her, I deserved her… Well, maybe I didn’t deserve her. A man that fought deserved a girl like that, not a pathetic boy who couldn’t string enough words together to lure her away from sure evil.
I was wrong… I didn’t deserve her.
But he didn’t either.
I was sure about that.
He downed his glass, something I could never manage to do because it stung my throat… That sounded really lame, pretend I didn’t write that. “Well, buddy, I’ll leave you be. You seem to be pretty… swamped.” I glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow. He was blind, pathetically blind. And yet, I was never blind. Not even to him.
Once, when his dog died, I slept at his house for three days and never told another soul that he had cried. Another time, he was locked out of his house because he hated to bring keys anywhere with him, so I went out and sat on the front step of his house with him. For seven hours. In a snow storm. Or there was also the time when his parents got divorced, I just sat and listened to him talk… I was his friend.
But I always doubted that he was mine.
And why I always went back was something even I couldn’t answer. It was for, I suppose, the few times that he actually reciprocated. Protected my sorry ass when I got myself in trouble… I always talked a big game, but I couldn’t fight. He took a few slugs to the face because I couldn’t, he told off a few guys who were stronger than I was, and he acted like a body guard…
He saved me physically.
And I think it made him feel good about himself, to care for the “underdog”…
I heard my front door slam shut, leaving me alone except for the crazy roommate who was sobbing in the bathtub. I rubbed my eyes, sauntering over to my computer in the corner, my desk covered in small sticky notes with possible ideas for books. It looked messy to the naked eye, but I understood my thought process enough to have my thoughts laid out on my desk.
I sat down, my chair squeaking under my weight. I tapped on my desk, staring at the black screen of my computer. I fiddled with a few keys until the screen flickered on. I leaned back, just staring at the little blinking line at the beginning of the document. I didn’t know where my previous inspiration had gone, up until lately words had just bled from my fingers without any thought at all.
Something was wrong with me…
I was lovesick.