Soppy stories in 3... 2... 1...

1. It's April, and I'm the easily bored, quick-to-anger chat newbie. I only know two people -- neither of which are you. I don't notice you right off the bat; hell, I don't think we even speak until the topic of who lives where happens to be brought up one day. We're tentative friends then, I guess-- when my temper blows with a certain someone, I'm rather glad to see that you're one of the ones backing me up. It's a start. At the time, I just don't know what it's a start to.

2. I can't quite remember how you get my number -- or vice-versa -- but the fact of the matter is that it's still April, I'm grounded over something my sister did, and I'm practically gnawing my leg off out of sheer frustration; how does one rp without access to a computer? Despite still being a semi-stranger to some extent, you put up with my bitching with little to no complaint... you have no idea how happy I am when you agree to rp with me over texts. Now, I'll be honest... I didn't expect it to last any longer than the duration of my "sentence." Eight months and about twenty more characters later, it's still going strong. I've been at rp sites that didn't last half that long.

3. It's June, and we're pretty damn close now, seems like. You're the first one I text after I graduate (and then remember it's about midnight, and you're already sound asleep), the first one I squeal to after the first horse show of the season, and the only one I cling to when, as I'm staying housesitting my cousins' place one night, I realize that this is how most zombie movies start out. I haven't forgotten what you told me back in May when we were discussing your religion class, and I still get scared when you seem really down, but for the most part, you seem okay, and as long as you're okay, so am I.

4. It's the start of July, and "stuff" is happening, and you're down. I'm scared that you're going to leave. I can't forgive her for what she put you through. I'm ready to fight if given the chance. I'm probably lucky that that chance never comes up -- I'm pretty sure you wouldn't approve, because it's not my fight. At the time, I don't know why I'm so damn protective of you, even for a friend -- it takes me nearly the whole month to clue in that maybe I actually have a crush on you. And in light of the promise I've just made -- the origin to this March Break business that everyone else hears you and I screaming about in near-constance -- I keep my mouth shut, afraid of what might happen if I admit to it.

5. It's August, and after a few not-so-awesome days in which you've started to draw the groundless conclusion that you can't write, you tell me you think you might quit the chat. I'm not thrilled with the idea, but I don't want to try and stop you... until you go on to add that it's likely you'd subsequently cut off communication with everyone there. Including me. And it kills me. And I freak. I can't remember what is said, but it's safe to assume that there was a lot of begging and pleading on my part... I've reached a point where you suddenly disappearing would damn near drive me over the edge. I don't even want to think about it. Around the time that I make this decision, you suddenly stop texting and don't answer for about half an hour. In the span of that half-hour, I lose my shit completely and start crying get rather tearful, assuming that you've gone ahead and decided to quit and this is just step one in the never-gonna-talk-again phase, and I panic. I may not say a word to anybody else about it, but I am freaking out bad. I haven't had a breakdown this bad since April 2007. When my phone finally goes off again I literally lunge for it so fast that I knock it off the bed. I am clingy, and I am possessive, and I am a nervous wreck, but you've decided to stick around, and for now, I guess I'm okay after all.

6. It's still August. Not even a week later, in fact. Thanks to the sudden arrival of a particularly obtrusive newbie, more trouble flares up. This time, however, it's deeply serious; you're upset, you start to rant, and suddenly everyone else is on high alert. You may tell me that it's nothing to do with me, but I'm still just as guilty, even if fingers aren't being pointed. I haven't forgotten what happened just days prior. I'm fucking terrified that you're going to change your mind and leave. I feel like I'm going to be sick every time I so much as look at the comments piling up on your journal. Moreover, I'm worried about you -- you're ranting because you're upset, and a lot of people responding seem to be more concerned with the topic and playing the blame game than actually worrying about you. Not that I'm not doing more than enough worrying to cover everyone elses' asses. I hate distance. I hate it so damn much for making me sit here and get all teary-eyed and nauseous while you're putting up with all that stress way over there. Eventually-- after the longest night of my life-- it gets resolved, but I don't stop worrying for another day or so... just in case, y'know? Later on, someone with no business being involved to begin with will make a reference to both you and this night when they try to cover their ass for dropping out of the rp. And I'll see red for hours afterward. But I'm getting better at holding back. Two guesses as to why.

7. It's September, and school has started in with the fun-suckage and general fail. I think I'm all set to hang out on my own when you go to school the first day. I'm not. The entire time you're there, I'm here trying to find something to focus on. I don't believe I've ever been this lonely. Pathetic, sure. But I still cling like a little bitch when you finally come home. Change isn't always a good thing, no? Later in the month you post a journal in which you mention that you think you might be in love with someone, and for two days I am on top of the world and letting my imagination run wild, thinking hey, maybe it's me, maybe life is good. And then reality sets in and gives me a swift kick in the ass. Silly girl. Of course it's not you. That online-relationship stuff is a load of bull, right? ... Sure...

8. It's October. The month goes by strangely -- a slow first two weeks and then BAM, Halloween is here. In the span of the month, we finally get to talk on the phone, which is... not as awkward as I was afraid it might be, even if it did take me five tries to finally dial the number. Chances are I sound like a total dweeb, but hey. Also a point of interest is our epic, epic Halloween plot... which gets kicked into action a week early thanks to my new job and STILL takes until November to get finished! Things are quiet. Life's pretty good.

9. It's November. And after a few worrisome on-and-off days, you text me-- literally JUST after I get done telling the other cashier at work about how I didn't care if I came down with anything-- and tell me that you're sick. And it feels like someone's tossed a bucket of icewater over me. I know I probably piss you off when I keep insisting it's okay, you'll be fine, nothing to worry about, blah blah blah, but to be honest, I'm terrified too. The only thing running through my head is all the fatalities, all the media hype, and at the same time, well... not her, not her, not her! I just don't say anything, because that doesn't strike me as something you need to hear. In the half-hour between my break and my dinner hour, I can't focus for shit. I go straight to my mom when they let me out for dinner... I'm beyond scared. She's far too flippant about it for my liking; this is serious, mother, this is HER we're talking about and if anything happens... Until I know that you're okay, I'm a wreck. Some niggling little part of me is starting to insist that I just say it, that this was a sign. I ignore that little voice. I don't need to stress you out right now.

10. It's still November. Not even a week later, actually, and that subject has come up... the one involving your mom and the very real possibility that you may lose your phone and we may never speak again. And I'm scared, and I'm still worried because you're still sick, and just... a bunch of other things. So I take a deep breath and I tell you. And for several very, very long minutes, you don't say a word, and I start frantically trying to think up a way to cover my ass in case I'm somehow in trouble for this. Except before I can delve deeper into a reason as to why a little kid would steal my phone and text you and admit to a crush, in my "voice", you reply.
And the feeling is mutual.
And... well... I wrote this.
ily. So, so much.

I swear:
I'll never, ever lie to you. I know I've prided myself on being a good liar in the past, but never to you.
I'll never try intentionally to hurt you. I can't make promises otherwise, because sometimes I am an idiot and overstep my boundaries before I realize. Please don't be afraid to get mad at me.
I'll never say anything behind your back. Ever.
I will try my damnedest to respect your boundaries. If you think I'm bitching too much, or talking shit about something you'd rather be left alone, or anything, tell me. I will shut up.
I will be there for you as much as I possibly can, whatever the circumstance. Fuck distance.
I will fucking TACKLE YOU the minute I see you at the start of March Break.
This one's for you, m'dear. We've yet to meet face-to-face, but we've come as close as we can, and hon, you're more near and dear to my heart than anybody else has ever been.
ily.

11/04/09