Vacant Chapter 9 Love

The words are ringing in my ears: â€Å"I love you.† It occurs to me I may have misheard. It's the only possible explanation. â€Å"So, you're okay? Don't listen to those girls, Emily.† I'll just pretend those three little words aren't hanging in the air – regardless of whether they were actually said. â€Å"Ethan, did you hear what I just said?† What do I say? I have no idea how to approach this, so I just stare at her wide-eyed. After a few moments, I feel warmth creeping up my thigh and realize its Emily's hand. At first, it's an attempt to get my attention, but as her hand ascends, I realize the intent is not so innocent. â€Å"We have to go. It's time to go,† I say, stilted, like Rain Man talking about his Kmart underwear. I grip the steering wheel for dear life because if I don't, the car and my life will go careening into the abyss. I've spent all this time convincing myself that Emily and I could never be anything but friends. Knowing that she may feel the same about me as I feel about her will complicate things, and I suddenly feel trapped. It's so quiet as we drive, that I hear a small plinking that would go unnoticed otherwise, but as I near the duplex, the sound the car is making increases. I briefly wonder if it's because the plink is getting worse or the quiet is just so intense. I make a mental note to find the origin of the plinking before putting too many more miles on the car. I should be thinking about the woman sitting next to me and her recent declaration instead of small pings, but I'm not†¦ I can't. If I do†¦ no. I can't think. I'm not even sure how I get here, but I'm sitting in the middle of my bed, having an argument with myself. It's no surprise that I'm winning. â€Å"She told you she loves you.† â€Å"She says she loves to cook. She loves lots of things.† â€Å"She's in there and you're in here.† â€Å"You really need to clean the ceiling fan blades.† I can't help but roll my eyes at myself. When I finally exit my room, the apartment is dark and quiet. Emily is asleep on the couch with a tight grip on the blankets. Little does she know she's gripping at my heart the same way. The notebook on the side table catches my eye, and I can't help but snoop. As I near it, I see there are several wads of paper strewn across the floor – discarded because they weren't perfect. The top piece, still clinging to life in its spiral bindings, is flawless. Dear Ethan – Sitting down to write this, I've never felt more like a young girl than I do right now. For the past two years, I've looked at you every day in hopes that someday – you'd feel for me, what I feel for you. But now I see that we perceive different things regarding our relationship. Maybe it could be classified on my part as hero worship, but I'd like to think I'm smarter than that. I think I know the difference between infatuation and love. I know there is a difference in our ages, but who cares? My heart has no idea how old your heart is. I just know that if I don't tell you, it will fester inside me, and I'll die a slow painful death. I've only ever loved my mom and never really knew what it was like to care for another person until I met you. I didn't fall in love with you that first day, but after many months of learning to appreciate your care and concern, I could see how kind your soul – your whole being is. That's when I knew another kind of love existed. It isn't the type of love between family members, or a crush, but a true love that is unconditional and lasting, a love that I can no longer hide. I know you probably don't return these feelings, but I couldn't go another second without you knowing. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable, and I'll find another place to live if you feel like we can no longer be friends. Love always, Emily I tightly clutch the notebook page in my hand. How can she do this to me? Doesn't she know what she's done? No†¦ it's not right. Not now, and without any further thoughts, I'm out the door.