Why does she have to be straight?
She sits on my bed, idly twirling her strawberry blond hair, the corners of her mouth turned downwards in a constant frown. She is telling me about her problems at home, but as much as I try to focus, I keep getting distracted by the movement of her full lips and the flipping of her hair over her soft hands.591Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqkJ9SIHAv4
Why does she have to be straight?591Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ24Yn5zUwVW
"You're the only person I can talk to about this, you know," she admits, the sadness in her voice tugging at my heart strings. "You're the only person I can trust."
I feel my face flush, and I laugh awkwardly. She looks at me with those crystal blue eyes, awaiting a response of some kind.
"I'll always be here for you."
My answer makes her smile, and she gets up from my bed, crossing my room and wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug. Her skin feels so warm and soft, I could melt in her arms. The smell of her shampoo, intoxicating and memorable, sends me deeper into the embrace. It takes all of my willpower to not turn my head and kiss her.
We linger in the hug, but she finally pulls away to look at her watch. "It's getting late. I should probably get home."
My heart breaks. "You can stay for dinner, if you'd like. Mom made plenty."
She shakes her head and wipes her eyes. "I really shouldn't. My dad will flip out if I'm not home soon."
She grabs her bag and walks down the hallway. I follow behind her, every thump of our feet on the floor sending a pang of sadness stabbing through me.
She turns around as we reached the door and hesitates before dropping her bag and tackling me in another hug.
"Thank you," she whispers into my ear, and I can barely handle it.
I don't even notice the hug lasting a long time, I'm so wrapped up in her. I feel her hesitantly pull away, and I let her.
She picks up her bag again and my mind races. I should tell her how I feel! No, what difference will it make? She's straight. She couldn't possibly feel the same. It will just ruin our friendship.
"You know you can always stop by if you want." I blurt out, regretting my panicked outburst immediately.
If she notices the desperation in my voice, she ignores it. "I know."
She opens the door, and I long to beg her not to go. Why does she have to be straight?
As she steps out of the doorway, she stops and smiles, turning around just enough to meet my gaze.
"You mean more to me than you'll ever know." she admits, tears filling her eyes.
She leaves, then, leaving me standing stunned and alone in the doorway.
Why does she have to be straight?
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