Nobody has ever loved me as much as I have loved him. Mother tried, initially I think, but then she discovered alcohol and fell hard and fast for it. Father was too busy and important to be bothered with something so trivial as his daughter. In the house it was common knowledge that we were a family built on mutual need more than actual love. I was there whenever they needed to show me off to faceless business associates, and in return I got a crisp bill.
It's funny how such a little thing makes all the difference. I grew up cold, cynical, and haughty for my lack of love, while he grew up happy and simple because of his abundance of it. He was nowhere near as rich as my family was, he lived perpetually in the middle-class, but he had so much more nurturing love than I did. There was no way on earth I'd ever admit this to him, but I was jealous.
Ichigo. A nauseatingly common name, yet coupled with him it was a rather nice fit. He wasn't too bright, never was, but that was just an enduring quality about him. The way he displayed such simple pleasure over the most frivolous of things, wide-eyed and open-u mouth. Ichigo never tried to hide his emotions. When he was happy, he smiled. When he was sad, he cried. In the sixth grade he dyed his hair pink, and after I questioned him about him he just shrugged and said, "Because I wanted to."
This baffled me. I never did something because I wanted to. Not to say that I wouldn't like to, if given the opportunity, just that I thought too much of all the possible bad results my actions might bring about. Everything I did was carefully thought out in advance in order to decrease the risk of making myself look like a total ass.
It was pretty much safe to say that I was the exact opposite of Ichigo. The words bright, peppy, and happy were never ones I like applied to me. Emotions were things to be controlled, to be kept in check for fear of them flying away from you. When I was happy, I held it in. When I was sad, I held it in. To the world I presented a stoic face.
It was totally ironic in that cheesy-romance-movie predictable way that one of us would end up falling for the other. In this case, it was me. All my carefully structured walls to assure I was never exposed seemed to crumble into dust every time I was with Ichigo. I found myself laughing-actually laughing-and acting like a normal kid who's parents didn't hate her and who didn't have a warped self-image. When I was with Ichigo, in brief, brief moments, I became somebody else. Somebody that I actually liked. Somebody that I actually loved. A Ryou that was deserving of love.
Sticking to my true spoiled nature, I refused to tell Ichigo just how I felt about him. Now that I think back about it, I think I was just too scared of letting my assiduously guarded emotions outside in the open. I didn't want to hear him say "I just don't like you like that." My greatest fear was to be so totally unguarded like that, only to be shot down cold. I refused to let that happen.
So I said nothing as the weeks, months, and years slowly crept by. I bit my lip, held my tongue, hastily focused on anything but the burning desire to press my lips up against his. For his part he didn't seem to notice that anything had changed in the relationship. As far as Ichigo was concerned, I was just that slightly arrogant girl he hung out with on occasion.
I held out until spring of my senior year before finally deciding to take any action towards affirming my feelings. I had been accepted to some far-off elite college with the likely chance that I wouldn't return home for a few years (what was there to come back to, my 'loving' parents in our ice-cold house?). And odds were that even if I did, I'd never see Ichigo again. I suppose it was a cowardly thing to do, waiting until the last possible moment to tell him how I felt. I lingered back a few moments after the graduation party to meet him after the crowd dissipated. Sucking in breath through my teeth and balling my fists for support, I approached him. I'd been near him loads of times by myself before, but this…this was different. This time I was going to lay it all out in the open for him to judge.
He looked up when I spoke his name. He smiled. His smile was bright enough to melt me into the muddy earth. "Hey Ryou, what's up?"
"Not much." I had to applaud myself on the ability to keep my voice from quavering. I took a deep breath then began, " Actually…there's something I wanted to talk to you about. Kind of a big something." Sigh. "Ichigo, I really-"
A neatly manicured hand appeared out of nowhere, wrapping itself around Ichigo's shoulder lovingly. The owner, a slim dark haired girl with rather long eyelashes, made a low purring noise in the back of her throat, "Baby."
"Oh, hey Masaya." Ichigo beamed, his smile far brighter than any one he had ever bothered to give me. The girl, Masaya, patted his shoulder once. She looked at me, curiously. Ichigo noticed and said, "Sorry. Masaya, this is Ryou-the girl I told you about."
"The old friend?" She nodded knowingly. "So happy to finally meet you."
I stood back, unable to move. Stunned. She knew me? How did she know me? And who was she? When did Ichigo meet her? And why did he never mention her to me before now? But sure he had mentioned me to her, probably on a moonlit walk while holding hands and laughing like the big doofus he was. Suddenly I felt very stupid, and very weak.
"Yeah, she was going to tell me some something." I heard his voice, but I couldn't look at his face. I couldn't look anywhere at him.
"Nevermind, just forget it. I'll see you later, maybe?" I waved once, then turned on my heel before he could reply.
As I walked away, I hoped no one noticed the little girl among adults who was crying.