Author's Note: I know it has been a while since an update. I am honestly sorry. I decided to not do a one shot entitled 'Parties' or 'Kisses' but rather this.

Disclaimer: I do not own 'The One I Love.'

Love: A Collection of Short Stories

Anger.

The Webster's Dictionary says that anger is a strong feeling of displeasure or hostility. I believe that. But somehow I don't. I don't think feelings can be put down in words. Especially such strong feelings like anger, sadness, and joy. Yet here I am trying to write my feelings down. I'm trying to make sense of anything and everything around me. I can't though. I can't and it's all one person's fault. What do you say when someone can take everything away with a few words? What can you do? Nothing. I sat and did nothing. I tried to confront them. I tried really hard. But like always…

I couldn't.

I feel like a loser. I fee like a loser for letting them get to me. I know that I am not supposed to let that happen. But I feel so helpless around them. I feel like I have to give in. I know that they are bad for me. I like the bad, though, because in the bad there was good. Good that I knew existed I just couldn't find it. I had been trying to find the good for a little over a year. A year and two months to be a little more exact.

Time stood still when we first met. I had known that they were lost over an hour. I watched as they paced up and down the street. They had just recently moved here and didn't know the neighborhood that well. I had also just recently moved there but knew my way pretty well. The differences between us weren't so big. If you ask me we are really one in the same. It is said that two people who are alike don't really go well together. They don't have it takes to build a solid relationship.

Those moments that I spent staring…I knew that we could something. Even only a small meek acquaintance. So I summoned up all my courage and I did it….

Sure, to anyone what I did wouldn't look so big in someone else's eyes. But when you're as shy as I am its hard. It's hard to look at someone and thing that 'I'm going to be their friend!'.

When I finally went up to them I found out that them was a he. Even though I could tell that he was lost it had been from a great distance so all they looked like was a figure. A body moving to the steady sound of cars passing slowly by. The screeching of brakes as they came to halt at the stop sign. But while I had noticed all the other details I hadn't noticed the important ones. At least in my opinion the important ones.

To me the most important thing about a person are their eyes. The eyes are the window to the soul. They let you know what you are getting into before you actually get in. My eyes are clouded and dark. They sometimes look like endless holes of black that go on forever. It looks like sometimes that I have nothing inside. That I am just a body without a soul. Maybe I was and still am. I was afraid to say this directly about myself and to myself, so I'd say that about other people. All the while knowing who the statements were meant for.

Looking into those eyes I saw to things. I saw green and gray. I saw light and dark. I saw the half of him that would appear perfect but was really troubled. The green. Then I saw the part that wanted to fade into the back ground and die. The gray.

I had always thought that white and black could be used to describe such things. I had always felt that white and black were the only way to describe light and darkness. But they weren't. I guess my mind had been closed, but it had just opened. Just a crack I as I studied. I saw what I was getting into— which was a mess— I was surprised.

He was and is the type of mess that is only known to people as an 'anti-hero'. I had loved anti-heroes since the day I started watching television. Of course back then I didn't know that the character I liked was called an anti-hero. I sort of thought of them as they good guy gone bad. But when I heard the word everything made sense. I re-read the definition over and over. So when I looked at him I knew that I had met my own anti-hero, but what did that make me?

"I'm lost."

Me too. I am lost in my new found enigma. We didn't even know each other and here I was. I already knew everything about a person whose first words to me were 'I'm lost'. The words threatening to be the last we ever shared if I didn't open my mouth.

I blinked and said, "Where're you trying to go?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. They were a true black as was his hair. I had only seen one person with truly black hair and that was the lady at the library. You could tell when someone's hair is truly black and not just dyed. Their hair matches their skin no matter what color. It is deep and dull colored, yet shiny and beautiful. It's like a black hole pulling you in deeper and deeper.

"Um…I live on Seven Springs Circle."

That street. That street used to be my sister's bus stop. There was something so odd and unsure about how he spoke. He made eye contact yet didn't. His voice was soft and rough. It was smoky and clear. But it was deep.

I was standing before an oxymoron.

"You may want to make a right and continue down the street and then…you'll be there. If you go left you'll be at the entrance, if you right you'll go into the neighborhood." I rambled. I don't why I told him that. I didn't need to. Anyone could figure it out for themselves. All you had to do was look.

"Thanks."

He turned and I watched him go. I watched my enigma…anti-hero…oxymoron go. I watched him walk away. I noticed more things that suddenly seemed to pop out at me. These things that screamed 'See me!' and I did. I saw that his hair was curly and thick. Perfect curls like the ones you saw on porcelain dolls. So round and bouncy. You dared to touch the curls because you knew that they were soft, but you didn't want to ruin them even if they would never disappear. I saw so many other things that weren't on the outside. I knew something instantly.

He was just like me.

My heart fell and I died. I hated people who remind me of myself. I hate people who keep things inside and never tell. I hate people who fake anger because they are trying to hide sadness. I shook my head. I was going over to someone's house for the first time in five years. I had just met this girl, named Charlotte, at the bookstore. She and I were both were in the Manga/Graphic Novels section. We hit it off immediately.

She was the first real friend that I made by myself. I was so proud. I knew that I could meet people who could and would like me.

I turned and started back to my family's house. It was an old house made back in the sixties. All the homes in our neighborhood. Back then they had built things to last. That was why our house was still standing. Inside though it was updated. We had a flat surface, electric stove. There was a double door refrigerator that took up a wall. We had the latest Kenmore washer and drier downstairs in our finished basement. The basement was also a game room where my siblings and I would often watch television or play video games.

But none of this phased my mind. I held onto the door knob to the front door. I let myself admit it. He…was…kind of…, "Hot." I finished the thought vocally as my older sister opened the door. She had seen me through the side window and thought that something was wrong with me. She gave me a questioning look but walked away.

I figured that I would have lunch before going to Charlotte. Lucky, for me she lived in the neighborhood and I could walk to her house.

-o-o-o-o-

Ding-dong.

There was a high note then a low one. I wore a passive look on my face as I waited for someone to answer. I heard someone squeal 'She's here! Finally someone my own age.' and then I heard someone say something mean 'Shut the fuck up already.' The door opened just as Charlotte shouted something back: "Why don't you go rot in hell you Russian freak!"

My face got hot as she turned around and did a complete 180 with her mood. "Hey, Morgan!"

"Hi…."

My voice was monotone and quiet.

Charlotte grabbed me by my wrists and pulled me inside. "Sorry 'bout the mess. You know what it's like when you first move to a place." She maneuvered around a large brown box. "So just walk around the boxes."

She waited for at the foot of the stairs. She had reached the area from the foyer to stairs first. Charlotte was pretty. Charlotte, as she said so herself, was biracial. She said her mother was white and father was black. She talked about her father a lot. She was apparently closer to him than to her mother. When she was explaining herself to me she said that even though her family sounded perfect, which they did, everyone has problems. Charlotte didn't want to talk about this problem at the time.

"'Kay so lets go back in my room. I have the first few episodes of D.N. Angel on DVD…we can watch 'em. With the cable not yet set up and all." She planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head in thought.

"Whatever, I don't really care."

"Good. Later you can help!"

"I care now." This remark got a laugh from her. She started up the stairs and motioned for me to follow. As far as I knew Charlotte was a happy girl. She didn't doubt anything about herself. She was always smiling and laughing. She'd make random jokes about things. I was forced out of thought when Charlotte stopped suddenly. She was glaring at an open door.

The room behind the door was messy. There was a mattress on the floor. The bed railings for it were propped against a wall. Clothes and hangers were spilling from boxes and thrown all over the floor. A television sat on top one of the boxes and looked that it might start sinking in anytime soon. But simply it was chaos. I didn't know why Charlotte hated this room. But maybe it wasn't the room but rather the person that resided in the room.

"Plan on moving anytime soon?"

It was the same voice that had made the 'Shut the fuck up already' comment. I turned around to the face of my enigma. The oddness of it all. So this was where he was trying to get back to. Even though it looked as if he really didn't want to be here. Charlotte scowled and finished going up the remaining steps. I followed suit still keeping quiet.

He headed in the direction of the messy room. He stopped and turned around. He looked at me with those eyes. The light and dark eyes. "Hey…again." We had never exchanged words of greeting. If we had I must have been thinking.

I felt a tug on my arm as Charlotte pulled me into her room and slammed the door. Unlike the other room she had been glaring at, her room was absolutely spotless. Her bed was set up and had been made. She had a nightstand beside her bed. On top of the stand there was a lamp and alarm clock. There was a dresser and a bookshelf on the wall across from the bed. The bookshelf was filled dictionaries, teen romance novels, and manga.

"You want to watch episode one?"

She was squatting at the foot of her bed. A large clear plastic bin was beside her with a dozen or so DVDs thrown inside.

"Yeah." I sat down on the floor. I didn't really want to ruffle the nice furniture.

"So…"

Her 'so' was casual. It was as if she was trying to figure something out.

"So?"

She spun around and sat down cross-legged. Charlotte sat the movie down in her lap. "Where'd you meet my brother?" She had a nonchalant look on her face. I hoped she wasn't going to be weird about anything. After all, she was the first friend that I had found on my own.

I hesitated. "I…I walked up and gave him directions. He was lost."

I was still shocked that he was her brother. They looked nothing like. I know that not all siblings look exactly alike, but there is always some resemblance whether it is just the nose or eyes.

"He's adopted," Charlotte had read my mind. She was carefully placing the disk in the DVD tray, "I don't know why. I am jealous though. He gets more attention because everything about him is so screwed up." Her eyes avoided mine as she pressed play.

Pulling my knees to my chest I focused my eyes to the television.

"If you stick around long enough, you'll see."

And I had. I started coming over daily. I started helping out with the move-in. I was introduced formally to all the members of Charlotte's family. At least all the ones that she wanted me to meet. As I spent more time with her, she told me more and more. I was the person that she would confide in. She was the author writing down the greatest story of all time and I was the paper that was lucky enough to capture the story. That was how I saw our relationship. And that was they I'd always see it.

"Here."

Charlotte gingerly handed me book that I had asked her to pass me. She was acting a bit strangely as she did often. We were on the grass that was in front of my house. The artificial green was staining her white shorts. I had been smart and worn jeans. Charlotte gazed across the street. She seemed to be studying something there so I wasn't surprised when she nudged me. "What is it?"

Her eyes moved from me to two girls standing and talking across the street. "See that girl?"

"Who? The dirty blonde?"

She shook her head. "No, the girl next to her."

I looked at the girl. Her hair was short and fell just halfway to her ears. She appeared to be pretty tall and had long legs. At this distance I could tell that she was one of those beautiful people. People who were naturally nice to look at. She looked like one of those girls that you would have to do a double take to make sure that she was real.

"Don't know her name but she's a slut. A big one." Charlotte pulled up some grass and let out a long sigh.

I turned my head slightly and looked at her through the corner of my eye. "How'd you figure that?"

"Because last—"

Charlotte was cut of, not by someone deciding to speak but by someone coming over. It was the said subject of our conversation. She was giving a large smile and waving at Charlotte with a rather animatedly. She and the dirty blonde, who's named I learned from her younger sister was Hope, came over. "Hello." The girl pushed back her brunette hair. "Good to see you again Char."

I choked. Charlotte looked humiliated. I had never heard anyone make a nickname for. I assumed that she, unlike me, was too good for stupid nicknames.

"Hey…" Charlotte put her finger to her chin.

"Dana." The girl interjected. "It's okay. We haven't known each other that long."

Dana. Dana, such an ugly name. I wanted to say this out loud. But I didn't want to be seen as rude. Hope was introducing herself to Charlotte. Out of everyone Hope was the only sane person that I could relate to.

"Oh! I hope Charlotte told you the news. I am so-o happy." Dana laughed. She seemed to be stuck in some kind of odd euphoria. Charlotte and Hope just shook their heads. It looked as if I would be filled in on the matter soon. But before then I would have to wait until Dana stopped giggling. We all watched as she took a deep breath and calmed down.

I don't get it. "Tell me what is going on?"

"Tell her!" Dana giggled again.

"Me?" Hope raises an eyebrow.

I risk a glance over at Charlotte who seems to be annoyed. "I will then!" She screams and pulls me closer. She whispers something in my ear but I miss it. I give her a confused look and shrug my shoulders. She rolls her eyes and looks away.

"We can talk later," Hope begins slowly. She pokes Dana and motions for her to go back across the street. It was the first time that I had spent anytime with her. In a group or alone. She and Dana walk back to her house. Hope hitting the back of her leg, and Dana pulling down her shirt.

"As I was saying before they came." Charlotte began pulling at the grass again.

"Yeah…"

"Ugh...that slut…she thinks she's got something…well it was only one night!"

She ends up not telling me. She ends up letting me try and figure it out for myself. Charlotte said she had tried to warn Dana came over last night. She had told Dana that there is nothing behind a pretty face. A pretty face that is detached. But Dana would listen because she was so sure. But she wasn't. The next time I saw Dana would be the next day. Her mascara would be running and she would be sobbing her eyes out. A cup from Starbucks would lay at her feet and she would be cursing everyone.

-o-o-o-o-

I am different from Dana. I never asked for anything. I had offered something but not that much. All I offered was to be a someone to talk to. But here I was with my cell phone in hand and just staring. I had lost the most out of all the girls. Out of all the little whores and sluts before. I was just a person.

I looked out the window. It was pouring down rain. The sky was gray. There was lightening…then thunder.

The next thing I saw made me want to rethink myself. My enigma. There he was walking down the street as if the rain wasn't pouring down by the buckets. The dark circles under his eyes probably made him look dead. I hadn't seen him a two days. Yet I knew what he looked like at the moment. When bad things happened his bad habits would kick in.

But right now I didn't care.

Because right now I finally saw him for what he really was.

A figure walking down the street.

Surrounded by the color that was his name.

Not wanting to be whole.

Not wanting to be broken.

He existed only to die.

And died only because he forgot his purpose.

I wished that he could see me.

But the cold eyes are facing forward.

Looking onto the black.

Dark clothes clinging and hair clinging to skin.

I wondered where my enigma will go.

Becoming more and more like his namesake.

Nothing is light.

Nothing is dark.

There is only the area in between.

You are either light or dark.

But what will you do my enigma?

Being perfectly half of each.

You cannot exist.

Stopping, looking up at the sky as it thunders.

As it calls your name.

I finally saw him for what he really was.

A nobody.

Broken by everything.

He cannot be fixed.

His a nothing to always be broken.

I remember so much. I remember learning his name and thinking: 'What dumb ass names their child that?'. He must have read my mind because I saw the faintest hint of a blush. I knew the truth the whole entire time. I denied each and every time. I liked someone else. There was another person but I felt deeper for him. Each and every day until I was sure.

I was in love with my enigma.

As Hope and grew closer she often told me that my enigma loved me back. That he would wonder and ask all about me. Of course I knew Hope was lying. Until the day I went out with another guy. My enigma became angry but wouldn't say a word. I brushed it off as a moment. A thing that will never happen again.

When Charlotte moved away I was sad. I had no reason to go see my enigma. But somehow I made myself see my enigma every day. I became apart of his daily schedule and me apart of his. We were tied together.

So why were things like this now?

Why was my enigma pissed at me?

And why had I done something so bad and let the words 'I hate you.' come out?

This is a story that will forever go on. A story without an end. The day it ends will be the day that one of us dies and is separated from the other. I hope we are never separated. I want to be with him so much. It is corny I know. But somehow he means a lot to me. I love every imperfection about him. I love how he prefers to be close to me rather than far away. I love everything.

Yet somehow I realize that I hate him. I told myself I would never love a guy like him. A guy who seems to have no moral values what so ever. But I was dead wrong. He doesn't seem to be some bad boy that I will like only for a moment and then forget. He is something different. Sure, he goes to anger management. Sure, he goes to a 'second chance' school. Sure, he has been in serious trouble. Sure, he is the reason for the bruise on my head.

But…I am a hopeless romantic.

Looking around for someone to love.

But…he is like a little puppy.

The little puppy that looks up at you with big eyes that say 'Love me, love me.'

And I do love him.

It can be hard but I…

I'm done with number four! This is a really personal story because it's based off of my personal life. The first part is partially fictional and the second part is completely fictional. The third part however is true. The event just recently happened. I actually called asked Charlotte and Hope to see if I could put them in this story. Dana was made up as a filler character because I forgot the real girl's name and the story with her. The third part also includes a poem that I wrote while watching my 'enigma' walk out in the rain. I really hoped you liked it. Tell me what you think and please (please, please, please…) review!

Thank you for reading!

trash-girl