"I think we should just be friends."
Those seven little words, uttered carefully by the five foot ten, dark-haired, brown-eyed boy standing in front of me, brought back the fierce pain I had felt in my stomach in the fourth grade when Kristen convinced me to play soccer with her. We were scrimmaging and one of our teammates decided to kick the soccer ball as hard as they could in my direction. Then, I had been gasping for air, clutching at my throbbing abdomen until the pain went away. Now, I was gasping for words, clutching desperately at the shattered pieces of our relationship as I watched them fall around us, every shard a different memory that burst into a million pieces as it crashed into the ground.
"But-are you sure? Maybe we should stop and think about this."
Though I was trying my hardest to remain calm, my voice was wavering, and tears began to collect in the corners of my eyes. I blinked them furiously away, unwilling to relinquish both my relationship and my pride.
"No, I'm sure."
The broken shards started coming down faster. There went our first date, falling just out of reach of my grasping hands. We had gone to see the latest Shia Labeouf movie. He bought my ticket for me, and the ticket lady smiled as us and said we made a cute couple. There went the soccer game where he held my hand for the first time. The Sirens were winning and the bleachers shook violently with excitement. I was embarrassed because I kept losing my balance so he stood behind me and promised he'd catch me if I fell. There went the fight we got into at Skye Hamilton's costume party. We left the party separately and I called him five minutes later, not wanting to go to bed angry. Instead of arguing further, all he said was how beautiful I'd looked that night. There went all the times he walked me to my class, even when it was so far away that it made him late to his. There went the first time we said "I love you." The text messages he sent me just to make me smile. The stories he told me about his less-than-perfect family life. All the times he made me feel wanted, loved, secure. Each and every one came crashing to the ground.
"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively, moving as if to touch my hand but stopping mid-air and abruptly dropping his arms to his sides.
No. Of course I wasn't okay. How could I be? I plastered a fake smile on my face and looked up at him and those brown, brown eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine."