Love

Just a story.

She smiles, eyes glittering, sun catching her expression in just the right way. It's appealing. Nothing more. It's just an appealing sight, like a giggling baby that you pass on the street. I feel no connection to her. But it's nice to see. It satisfies me.

I give her a polite smile back as I set her on her feet, down from my arms where she claims her only safety lies. I steady her as she pretends to fall, fall into me that is. It's cheesey but I stay polite.

"You're my hero," she sighs, resting her head on my shoulder without consent.

I let her. I tense up but I let her.

"We should be getting back, Amy," I chuckle, as though I'm amused with her antics.

In all actuality I'm nervous. I know where this is going. It's happened too many times for me to count. It's happening again, right now.

I shift, standing her upright. I'm gentle. Never harsh. I can't help but wonder if harsh would solve the problem though. It would disenchant her. Would it drive her away?

"Wait! Before we go, I just wanted to say," she pauses.

It's long, heavy, synthetic in some ways. It's not a silence between lovers, friends, anything really. It is distinctly our silence. She blushes. I gulp.

Her eyes flutter like a child who just played with Mommy's make up and tried on Big Sister's booty shorts. It doesn't suit her. I'd prefer pigtails. They capture the charms of her youth nicely. She flutters her lashes anyways, completely oblivious.

"I just wanted to say that I love you, Sonic," she confesses for the millionth time. And cue the anime hearts. "I always have and I always will. I know that deep down, you understand how I feel and I'll wait forever for you to realize that. I won't give up. I love you so much."

Drama, I think of the dramas she always makes me watch. The girl would always say something like that to which the boy would agree. Then they kiss. Then they cry. Then they kiss again.

Here there is no kiss, there is no tears of joy, there is nothing that she wanted.

She only finds running as my response.

I just run, like always.

It gets me nowhere.

I stare down at my shoes. There's nothing to say. Nothing to do. If there is I have no clue as to what it might be. So I stare at the worn red and white sneakers for an answer. They give me none.

She loves me.

I always convince myself it's not true. I always push it aside. It's a crush. Mere infatuation is what boils her blood. But crushes are not following men into battlefields. Crushes are not life risking chances taken for the sake of one boy. Crushes do not include the breath takingly admirable devotion Amy embodies. No, sir, that's not a crush.

That's love in it's most vibrant form.

I feel nauseous at the realization. I shake my head. I try to get it out. It's true though. I can't reject what is true.

She loves me more and more with each passing day and it devours me. Whether I feel the same or not, her love ties me to her. I have a duty to her. I must keep her safe. I can't let her down. If I do it'll break her heart. I don't break hearts; I mend them.

So I stand guard and it holds me down. Her love pins me to the ground where the bugs crawl. It puts me on that lowest level. It leaves me vulnerable to incoming boots. All the while she doesn't care, perhaps doesn't even realize, that I am miserable, I am scared, I am unsure of what to do. She's too preoccupied with the fact that I'm there. Too consumed in the idea that she loves me.

She loves me and I hate it. Her love grows, my hate shows. I want it all to end.

Don't love me! Stop! It hurts too much to take a love so pure, one I don't even deserve, and run away with it, smashing her to pieces for my sake, her sake, the sake of every being on this God Damn Earth.

It kills me. Don't pretend it doesn't kill her too. It does. I hate it. I hate and I hate and I hate until there's no room left to even appreciate the love behind the action. I just hate.

Not her, though. It's not her. I have to remind myself of this in my guilt. It's not a crime to be in love. That thought only makes me feel worse. If loving's not the crime, what is?

Am I the bad guy here? Am I the jerk who snaps her hopes beneath my feet? Is not loving her back the real sin?

I have no answer. My first instinct is to blame her, but in my soul I know that makes no sense. It's just wrong. My second thought is that there's no one to blame. Shit happens. We weave in and out of love and we sometimes get left in the dust, or leave someone stumbling at our heels. Is that so wrong? Or is it just inevitable? A part of life?

Again, I'm left with no answer. The floor boards sure as Hell aren't helping me either.

I sigh and look up.

Do you want to give it a shot, ceiling?

It tells me to fuck off. It tells me I'm an ass for not loving Amy. It tells me how it would like to see me hang off it for what I'm doing to her. At least, it does in my mind.

I agree with it. And I'm a crazy guy talking to his ceiling to top all that off.

My muscles groan in protest when I stand from my bed. My bones ache, my joints are rusty and I need to clear my head. There's a cure for all three and you know what it is.

I run. I run out the door. I run through the town and I don't stop. Not when the wind stings my face or the sky opens up or when the angels make a bad attempt at striking me down. I just run. Cause that's what I do when there's no answer. I run. Like a coward. Like a child. Like a heart breaker.

Just run.

It still gets me nowhere.

Thanks to all you guys who read through. I hope you enjoyed this one shot.

Critiques are welcome and very much appreciated. So if you guys want to share your thoughts that would be great.

Thank you again.