I wrote this back in high school while I had an unhealthy obsession with my best female friend. I thought of this because of the GD thread about telling you're friend you like them like them. BTW, I was pretty fucking emo back then.


http://home.comcast.net/~cutuphalfdead/sunset.txt

On New Year's Eve Jack watched a bright red sunset, like blood beautifully spilled across
the evening sky. These nights have been given to do with as you see fit, to make them carefree
and worthy of recollection, even when they’re impossible to remember. It's a night to make the
most of, but this New Year's Eve got the most of him.
She leaned against the wall, throwing darts with all her might, transferring her hurt to
the trodden board, while praying the flying blades would cut through these dry walls, ripping
apart her canvas, leaving nothing but a clean slate of pure white light.
"Samantha, what’s wrong?" he asked, watching the tears stain her face. It was never
Samantha when they talked. It was always Sam, no matter how serious the conversation was.
"He left," she said. She through her last dart, which flew off like a truant, knocking
over picture frames and glasses. "He just left."
She didn’t have to say much more, he immediately understood, he ached under her pain.
Sam and Mike had been dating for three months now. She loved him, there was no doubt about it,
and she always thought that he was the boy she had been searching for, the kind of boy that doesn’t
leave his girlfriend to be alone on New Year’s eve. Their companionship started so well. They
would walk hand in hand, projecting each other’s radiance in the happiness they had found. But the
last month had been one of uncertainty. It was getting shady, as she liked to put it. Like the
times when he wouldn’t kiss her goodbye. She made him a Christmas card. She had worked on it for
days, pasting together pieces of carefully crafted construction paper, topped off with glitter and
pipe cleaners. She poured everything she had into that masterpiece, it became a beautiful
expression of the happiness she found in him, and he received it with apathy.
Jack immediately understood what had happened, but he asked her anyway. Maybe he asked
because he hurt so much for her that he needed to hear the details, he needed to know exactly how
this monster could rip apart his best friend, his territory. Or maybe he asked because he could
see it in her tear hazed eyes that she needed to let it out, that his best friend knew nothing but
confusion, and she needed to sort it out in words.
"What happened?" he asked. He crept down the wall to seat him self by her side. "Why did
he leave?"
Breath escaped her lips as they sat side by side, with their arms clutching their knees,
and their skewed vision focused only on shoelaces untied. She cradled her head in his shoulder,
and let her breathing dry her tears. She fell into his side, but their arms remained hinged,
clutching nothing but their respective knees. "He just left." She finally managed to say, "he
wouldn’t tell me why. He had that apologetic look on his face, like he was saying 'I’m killing
you, but I’m sorry’, and he got in his car and drove off. He just left."
Jack knew then that he wouldn’t be going home that night. His mom was expecting him at
any moment, but instead of leaving he just turned off his phone. It didn’t matter. He’d hear it
from her the next day, he’d probably be grounded, but it didn’t matter.
Sam's parents liked Jack, and they trusted him with their daughter. Spending the night
alone with her was nothing out of the ordinary, they often fell asleep at each other's side.
They're still parents, and it's their job to intrude. Sam was never the kind of girl that would go
to her parents in times like these, and they were the last people she wanted to see when she was in
this condition.
He led her up the stairs to the comfort of her room, where they wouldn’t be bothered by the
intrusion of television and parenting. They sat on her bed while they talked the hours away, and as
the night progressed, their heads drifted to the pillows. She was the first to fall asleep, though
he was equally tired. She lay on her side, with the occasional turn, while he lay paralyzed,
motionless on his back. He was afraid to make movement in the confines of the small bed, he was
afraid he’d wake her, and bring her back from her dreams. So he lay on his back, with his head to the
side. Watching her sleep and the rhythm of her breast as they would softly rise and fall.
"How perfect she is when she sleeps," he thought to himself. He listened to the innocent
rhythm of her breath, as her head lay cradled in her heaven-scented hair. He watched, trying
desperately not to blink, tracing the sharp determined contour of her shoulders with his eyes,
following them down to the subtle beauty of her breasts, and the illustrious curves of her perfectly
formed and peaceful body. He wanted desperately to put his arm around her, to hold her close and sleep
through the night, to lie there with her in his arms until the morning sun would wake them, and the
tears of the night before would be forgotten. But instead he lay there on his back, with his arms
motionless at his side, waiting for the morning sun to wake them when the tears of the night before
would be remembered. When she awoke that morning he was still awake.
"Sleep well?" he asked when he was sure she was fully awake.
"Yes" she answered, "how about you?"
"Meh" was all he could reply.
"Thank you", she told him, "for staying with me." They stared at each other for a minute.
She had an innocent morning smile, while his depressed expression carried over from the night before
could not be faked away.
"It was nothing," he said as he sat up in her bed, straightening the twists of his shirt.
"Do you want breakfast?"
"No, I actually have to head out." He lied, he had nowhere to be.
"Oh" she replied, "well, again, thank you."
"Yeah" was all he could say as he kicked on his sneakers and went out the door.
He drove home in the bitter silence of his thoughts. Jack was used to drives like these. His
relationship with Sam was a roller-coaster of conflicting emotion. When she first met Mike, Jack was
ecstatic for her. She needed someone that made her that happy, especially after a string of boyfriends
that walked all over her. He was ecstatic, but at the same time it killed him. It killed him because it
further cemented his station in her life. This guy who she barely knows, who she just met, gets a chance
to be the one person to share in her happiness. Jack just gets to sit and wait for it to fall apart so
he can pick up her pieces. As he drove, tears trickled down his cheek, which was unusual for him. No
matter how intense his despair, he couldn’t remember the last time he cried. His thoughts turned to
their friendship, and how he was treated differently from the rest of her friends. She was a vibrant and
outgoing person, and it was reflected in her friendships. She recognized the small beauties within her
friends, and never failed to let them know what she loved about them, whether it was their wit, their
intellect, or their silly little jig that they dance through the corridors. He tried desperately to
think of his beauty, but his mind wavered, and he came up with nothing. He thought of what it was that
he meant to her. He always thought of himself as a unique person, but for the life of him he couldn’t
name one thing about him that made her smile. He knew that, in some indescribable way, he meant a lot to
her. He was always the one she called when she needed someone to cry to, but that seemed to be it. She
considered him one of the best friends she had, but he was her shoulder to cry on, and not much more. He
had plenty of trivial aspects that he always felt she should embrace: his wit, his intellect, his silly
little jig that he danced through the corridors. He thought of the crush that he developed from the
first time he saw her. And he thought of how his love for her blossomed as their friendship deepened,
and how for a year and a half it had gone unrequited. Since school started in September he had lost all
hope of being with her, and tried to suppress his love. He thought he had succeeded, but he was only
fooling himself. The feeling returned tenfold, and it hit him like a freight train.

* * *

For the next few days he stayed mostly at home. He barely slept, spending his nights hidden in
the shadows of the corners, drowning in his music while his thoughts leaked through his pen. His
depression subsided a bit from the New Year’s catalyst, but he was still in no mood to socialize. He hadn’t
talked to Sam since the night he stayed in her bed, guarding her in her sleep, until a few days later when
she called him. He noticed her name on the caller-ID and smiled. Though he was dripping in his own misery,
a phone call from her could still cheer him up.
"Hello," he answered. He twisted his finger anxiously through the draping cord,
trying not to sound too excited.
"Hey, what’s up? How have you been?" she asked.
"I’ve been better, but whatever."
They talked for a while about nothing in particular, until the subject of Mike came up. When he
heard his name, his eyes closed and his muscles tensed. He could feel his organs desperately try to
function, as the sound of his name was a spear through his heart. He started to panic as his mind deserted
him, and his voice lost track of the conversation.
"What’s wrong?" she asked.
"I..I..I don’t know," he stuttered. He knew what he wanted to say, but his voice had misplaced the
words.
"Jack, what’s wrong, are you alright?"
He could picture the words escaping her lips. They were muffled, and they tried desperately to
penetrate his ears. "No," was all he could answer. His thoughts were liquid, and he sat helplessly as they
rushed away from his voice. He finally gathered enough of his dripping thoughts to speak, and tell her
everything he ever wanted to say. His feelings for her were never a secret, she was fully aware, but he
still felt like he needed to say them, to let the pressure vent. He erupted, and spilled everything on her.
"Jack, I don’t think this is love," she tried to say.
"Sam, don’t ever say that to me," he interrupted. For a moment there was eternal silence.
"What do you love about me?" she asked him, calmly breaking the silence.
For a moment, all that was heard was Jack’s heavy breath against the receiver. He closed his eyes to
dry his forming tears, and after collecting himself, he softly spoke. "What do I love about you? Ha! What
don’t I love about you" he answered, at this point almost yelling. "You’re perfect. Physically, it’s the
eternity of your eyes and the sincerity of your smile that I can’t get over, but it’s so much deeper. I love
who you are and how everything you say and do seems to complement me. You can't even deny the way we fit
together. I mean, how many times have you made some insignificant witty remark and call me at the end of the
day excited to tell me about it, knowing how much I'd appreciate it. And that works the same for you, how
many times have I prefaced a story by saying 'you're going to love this, nobody else thought it was funny and
I've been waiting all day to tell you''?” Jack stopped now for a second to catch his breath. He could feel
the tears swelling in his eyes as he slowly continued. “I love your unrestricted intellect, and the depth of
your compassion. And I love the world that you have showed me, you’ve opened me up to so much. And I love
it when you think differently then I do. I love how it challenges my thought, and opens me up to a whole new
light that is unlocked by your radiance. I feel like I’m a better person for ever having met you, and I just
want to be with you. I love you, and I love who I am when I’m with you."
"Jack..I’m..I’m so sorry."
"And, it just doesn’t make sense," he continued with his fevered rant. "You know, I go over it so
many times in my head, and it should work. I feel like we just complement each other perfectly, and every
time I think about it, I don’t understand why we can’t work. It’s like, it’s like there’s this unknown
factor, that there’s this something about me that makes me so repulsive. It’s like," he was stumbling over
his words as his heart raced to keep up, "It’s like I feel like there’s something about me that I don’t even
know. I feel like there’s this thing about me that makes the idea of even being with me laughable. It’s
like I’m not good enough, I’m really just not good enough for you."
"Jack, that’s ridiculous. You know there’s nothing wrong with you, it’s just.."
"It’s just what? If there’s nothing wrong with me, then what is it?"
"It’s just, it’s just not there. I don’t know what to tell you, it’s just not there."
The conversation went on to the point of repetition, and she was getting tired, so
they said their goodnights.

* * *

Jack opened his bedroom door slowly, trying to avoid the slightest shriek. His heart raced as he
walked to the kitchen, and skipped a few beats every time the floors yelled at his steps. He cautiously
turned the key to the liquor cabinet as every click taunted him. With the door ajar he faced his poison.
After staring off into the flood of toxicity he quickly snatched up a bottle and dashed back to his room. It
didn't matter if they heard him now, it would all be over soon. Back in his room Jack retrieved the candy he
had been saving for the occasion. He sat at his desk facing himself in his mirror. He took a shot. And then
another, and another; each time washing down a handful of his medicine. Each gulp came quicker than the last.
He could feel the end coming and raced to meet it. When the medicine was gone he stopped, stood, and stumbled
to his bed. His mind quickly went black as he fell into the comfort of endless sleep.

* * *

His suicide note didn’t call for a funeral, and he asked only that there be a small memorial service held
at school. On the day of the service, the blood red sunset spilled into the auditorium through the long
vertical windows, casting a hue of crimson to fight the bitter contrast of the dark shadows of the hall. Some
of his closest friends were asked to speak. Sam was the last to give her eulogy. She stood shaking at the
podium, staring at the assembly of Jack’s friends, family, and classmates. She looked out to his closest
friends, the people who knew him, who laughed with him, who cried with him. She looked to his friends seated
in the front row, and started to speak between the tears she hadn’t seen since her New Year’s abandon. "He..he
wasn’t a bad kid," she began, talking onlyto her feet. "There was nothing wrong with him," she continued as
the tears grew thicker. "It’s just, it’s just..it just wasn’t there."

hated the end. loved the middle. i got a warm feeling reading a male talk about love like that. but then the male inquestion had a problem. s**t

Thanks. I don't really like the end either, it was just how I felt in high school. The middle part, the converstation where they are arguing over what love is, is a real conversation I had in high school. It seems trite and bullshit in hindsite (not the sentiment, but the bullshit way the male handled it), but it was pretty fucking intense at the time. Thanks for reading though.