A/N: Hey… So I created this one-shot… There's a reference towards an attempted suicide, so that's a trigger warning.
I hope you like it.
~PJ
When you were eight, you thought love was a stupid thing to feel.
Sure, you felt love towards you parents, your dog Rufus, and that friendly love towards your best friend Brittany, but it was whenever people talked about that other type of love, you would stick out your tongue out and tell them a remark about catching cooties.
You know, that kissey-kissey-get-a-room-butterflies-and-idiots type of love that people in your life used to fawn over. You didn't see the use of falling in love. At the time you took that literally and you were a little worried that your mom could've scraped her knee when she said she fell for your father.
You didn't know that, that's exactly what happens when you fall in love. Metaphorically at least. Someone always gets a scrap to the knee, sometimes something worse.
The boys in the schoolyard thought the same about love; that it was stupid. They would yell and scream at the girls to stay away, and you would do so, happily. You thought boys were stupid, which is something that you actually thought throughout your life on a regular basis.
When you were twelve, you didn't understand love.
Sure, people in your grade would talk about it all the time, but you didn't think they fully grasped the concept of it. Just because you think they're cute doesn't mean you're in love with them. You didn't quite know though. They could be in love, but they could also not be in love. It might just be infatuation that they're feeling, or maybe they're just in love with the idea of the person rather than their whole being.
Or at least that's what all of those sappy romance movies your best friend Brittany made you watch had said. You didn't actually understand those. How could you be in love with the idea of someone rather than the person themselves? Isn't it basically the same thing? And what in the fuck is infatuation supposed to mean? Of course, you were also too lazy to get a dictionary.
When you were fourteen, you were terrified of love.
Even the mere thought of it almost made you shit your pants. You didn't like thinking about it at all. You felt that if you thought about it, the things you don't want to come true will come true.
That was the age that you thought to yourself that you might just be in love with your best friend. You considered all of the other options though. You thought maybe it was just infatuation, which you had learned the meaning of, or maybe you just liked the idea of her. Two concepts that you think you understand and almost immediately denied. You went back and considered them though, you decided it was all just admiration towards Brittany.
Nobody spoke of love anymore. It's as if it were some taboo thing.
You're starting to watch a few of those other romance movies without Brittany forcing you to. You thought they're kind of nice, and they gave you this warm fuzzy feeling inside.
When you were fifteen, you didn't believe in love.
Your parents divorced that year. You remember your mother always fawning over your father, and how he would do the same right back. You can't count the amount of times they've told the story of how they fell for each other without a single scrape on the knee.
You suppose this was some sort of serious bone damage that has also hit a nerve connecting to the brain, leaving them in some sort of coma, which inevitably led to death because that's how serious it was.
You figured if they could no longer love each other, then maybe love doesn't exist. True love, at least.
You also lost your virginity that year to some boy at a party. You didn't like it. He was rough and it hurt. You cried when you got home.
You started sleeping around that year. You did things that you don't think you should even say aloud, but nobody else seemed to have a problem saying it aloud to their friends. That hurt a bit at first, but you didn't stop doing it.
When you were sixteen, you denied love.
You were in love, and, man, did you know it. You were infatuated with her, and not only were you in love with the idea of her, but also her in general. Sometimes you would even imagine a wonderful future together with kids and everything.
But you were terrified about it, so you denied it.
You and Brittany started to do the things that you usually did with other boys and, wow, you actually liked it. Brittany was soft and gentle, yet still rough enough to turn you on in ways you thought were physically impossible before.
Brittany once confronted you about the relationship, but you just said it was nothing more than sex, no matter how much it pained you to say it. You knew it broke her heart too, but you couldn't bear to be in love with a girl. You felt like a shameful disappointment.
You stopped loving that year.
When you were sixteen and a half, you thought you royally fucked up any chances of love.
Brittany got tired of waiting for you to accept the fact that you're in love with her. She started dating this boy, Artie. You hated Artie.
They dated for a quite few months, which was way too long for you. Within that time you decided that you needed her. You needed to be with her. By be with her you mean actually be with her.
Sometimes you would think to yourself that you're definitely ready to love her, but then that fear gets to you again. That's when you back down.
When you were seventeen, you pronounced your love.
Okay, so it wasn't some big, romantic gesture. It was a sobbing confession in the middle of the hallway while she was waiting on her boyfriend to get to school that morning.
The main thing was that you told her you loved her.
But. (there's always a 'but' isn't there).
She didn't say it back.
No, she stared at you open-mouthed for a few minutes.
"Really? I-I-I…" You remember her trailing off, as if she couldn't quite find the words to finish her sentence or maybe it was just that she didn't feel the words she was going to say.
Her boyfriend arrived and asked her if she was ready to get to class. She nodded, closing her mouth and turning around, walking towards class, Artie rolling right next to her. You watched her leave, and at some point she sat down on his lap, breaking your heart.
That entire situation hurt you more than words can describe.
When you were seventeen and a half, you loved and you were loved in return.
You didn't interact with Brittany for months, even after she broke up with Artie. You were too hurt. You figured if you stayed away, the love would go away. It didn't though. It lingered, and there was a Brittany sized hole in your heart those entire three months.
You hardly did anything. You didn't sleep around anymore, nor did you go to parties. You stopped drinking and settled for curling up in your bed with a book or a blank journal that had been waiting to be written on.
Soon, Brittany showed up on your doorstep. It was a stormy Saturday night. The rain was pouring, thunder was growling, the lightning was flashing and all that jazz.
There was that ring on your doorbell. You figured it was your mom coming home from another late shift, and maybe she had forgotten her keys, so you didn't bother to get out of your fluffy, rainbow pajamas pants (a gift from Brittany), take off your glasses or to take your hair out of its incredibly unattractive state.
When you opened your door, you were surprised when you saw Brittany. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was soaking wet. Her lower lip trembled as she surged towards you, immediately connecting her lips with yours.
You didn't fight the kiss but you didn't respond to it either. She took notice to that and pulled away, but only slightly.
"I love you too." She whispered against your lips, a tremble in her voice. "I hope you still feel the same way about me."
You immediately kissed her again. It was fiery and passionate, and you were crying too. They weren't sad or regretful tears though, more like happy tears.
You stumbled into your apartment (you and your mom moved into it after her and your dad divorced), immediately leading the both of you to the couch. When she sat down, you straddled her lap, grinning into the kiss before pulling away. Your forehead rested on hers as you whispered the three magical words that could send anyone's stomach fluttering, or heart beating out of their chest.
"I love you," There was a pause. "I could never stop loving you."
When you were eighteen, your love was revealed unexpectedly.
It wasn't necessarily the fact that you loved Brittany that was scary, but the fact that you loved another girl. You were afraid to face the consequences that came with it. You were afraid you wouldn't be able to handle the rejection and hatred that came with it.
You walked into school Monday morning, head held high, Cheerio's duffel bag in hand (contrary to popular television belief, you only wore your Cheerio outfit on days of games, and even then you kept it in the duffel bag). People gave you strange looks as you passed them. Some scowled and glared while others smirked, and your confidence faltered.
You walked up to your locker, not quite paying attention to any of your surroundings besides the looks. As you walked to your locker, people seemed to follow you. When you got there, there were a ton of people littered around your locker, none quite at it.
You gave them suspicious looks as you walked up to your locker. You put your fingers on the lock and froze when you saw the green spray paint across it.
Your locker had the word dyke spray painted across it.
The duffel bag in your hand dropped and you stumbled a few steps away from the locker. Tears welled in your eyes as you looked around, and you knew that everyone knew about you. There would be no use in scrubbing it off at this point.
You took off running in the direction of the bathroom. You wouldn't let them see you cry.
You locked yourself in a stall.
Brittany went to North Carolina to visit her relatives, leaving you all alone here.
You didn't want to leave the stall. You didn't want to face the people. You wanted to stay here, curled up in a tiny ball next to the toilet.
Nobody came in the bathroom. It was as if they knew where you were.
It wasn't until lunch time did someone come and fetch you. You were supposed to be having a glee club meeting, and you were sure that they heard about it. That they were worried about you.
Kurt came in, of course Kurt was the one to be sent in. He talked to you through the stall for awhile before you finally came out of it and went to glee club.
You didn't talk for the rest of the day.
You suppose it was about time for you to come out of the closet, but you wanted to do it on your own terms. Not because some jackass felt bored.
You got a call from Brittany around one in the morning. Apparently she had seen posts that people posted on your Facebook timeline and she wanted to know what the hell happened.
You told her what happened, and she said she's taking the first flight home. You insisted that she should stay and have a good time, but she refused to stay when her girlfriend was hurt.
You went on Facebook after the phone call to see what she was talking about when she talked about Facebook posts.
You deleted your Facebook.
You made an attempt at deleting your life too.
When you were nineteen, your love was separated from you.
You both went to different colleges. Brittany went to Julliard for journalism while you went to Indiana University in Bloomington for music production.
You kept in touch through Skype and phone calls though, so no harm was done to your relationship. If anything, it made it even stronger.
When you were twenty-four, you married your love.
It was a small outdoor wedding held during the summer. It was sweet and intimate. Everyone from glee club was there, which was predictable. Your dad didn't show up. Your mom did though, and you think that was all that mattered. Brittany's entire family was there too, meaning at least twenty people from her side of the family showed up. You suppose it was your side now too.
You said your vows, which were sickeningly sweet and gag-worthy. An eight year old version of you would be so disappointed in you.
You had never been more happy than in that moment when you kissed your wife for the first time.
When you were thirty-two, you had another person to love.
After so long of being picky about a surrogate, and nine, hormone filled months later, you two finally had a little bundle of joy. You ended up naming her Kylie. There was no specific reason, it just popped into Brittany's head, and you both happened to like it.
At least you didn't name her Lord Tubbington Junior in honor of Lord Tubbington the First who had died earlier that month (He was twenty fucking years old).
When you were fifty, you thought love was the most bittersweet thing in the world.
Your daughter graduated and moved far, far away from you and Brittany to go to college. It nearly broke your heart to see her leave, but you also felt that swell of pride in your heart.
Your baby got into Yale.
At least you and Brittany go the house to yourselves again.
When you were sixty-five, you thought love was the most wonderful thing in the world.
With a wife, a daughter, three grandchildren and a son-in-law, you decided a love filled life can be absolutely perfect.
When you were eighty-six, you decided that love is everlasting.
Sure, your wife's death left you absolutely heartbroken, but that didn't stop you from loving her. You never stopped, like you had said when you were seventeen, you couldn't stop.
When you were eighty-eight, your loving days were over.
It didn't mean that you stopped loving, it just meant that it was pretty difficult loving someone from your grave. You managed it though.