“And what is that?” He mused,
“Don’t play naive with me. I know that you think you want this now but I won’t settle for an impulse.” I informed him skating backwards. “I’m more than that.”
“Yesoh what’re you talking about?” He questioned,
And then it hit me like a truck. He had no idea how I felt this entire time, he had no idea that he was myfirstcrush, thefirstboy I ever liked. He had no idea that all this time my heart had been reaching out to him. And that realization hurt more than expected, the realization that all this time I had been falling all on my own. Time and time again I had fallen to the ground, bruising my knees in the process. How dare he wake up oneday and decide on a whim that he wants me back, how dare he merelywantme when I’veneededhim always?
“You know, I thought that this was what I wanted, but this isn’t right,” I said, my voice sharp now, the emotions I’d kept buried rising to the surface. “you—you can’t just wake up one day and decide you want me, and just like that, you think you can have me.”
His expression shifted, hurt flickering in his eyes, but I didn’t stop. “I don’t understand…”
“You see the thing withyouWynter, is that youknowthat you’re beautiful, you know that you can bat an eye and have rows of women collapsed to their feet. That’s why you think that things should be this easy for you, because theyalwayshave been with girls. But not with me, I won’t allow that not this time.”
“Hey, where is this coming from?” He questioned grabbing ahold of my wrist and I held his gaze breathing heavily and swallowing hard.
“You don’t get to do that,” I said, my voice cracking. “You don’t get todecidewhen I matter.”
The weight of my words hung between us, heavy and unrelenting. I turned away, stepping off the ice and grabbing my shoes.
“Yesoh, wait,” he called, his voice soft but urgent.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t. The tears were already burning at the corners of my eyes, and I refused to let him see me cry.
After that, I decided to do what any sane individual would do after experiencing a crisis in which the boy she’s been obsessed with since she was a kid finally decided that he wanted her. I decided to run away to my dad’s apartment in downtown New York to play video games with my little brother Soleh.
The apartment smelled faintly of takeout and laundry detergent when I walked in, letting the door click shut behind me. Soleh was already sprawled on the couch, a controller in hand and his laptop balanced on the coffee table. His lanky frame barely fit into the cushions anymore, but his posture was the same—relaxed, half-slouched, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
He looked like mom more and more as he got older, with her curls and soft features.
“Hey,” I called, taking off my boots and dropping my bag by the door.
Soleh turned, grinning in that easy, teasing way he always did. “Soh. You’re just in time. I’m about to make a Sim sacrifice themselves in the pool.”
I rolled my eyes but made my way over anyway, collapsing onto the couch beside him. “I don't think that this is what EA imagined the game would be used for, have you considered feigning normalcy perhaps?”
He shrugged, smirking. “Firstly don't speak as though you've ever been normal. Secondly, Where’s the fun in that? Watch this—two ladder removals, and boom. Simpocalypse.”
I shoved his arm. “You’re evil.”
“You love me,” he shot back, clicking rapidly on the screen as one of his Sims flailed in the pool. “Besides, you used to do this too. Don’t act all innocent.”
“That was different,” I protested. “It was Sims 2 and I was, like, ten I couldn’t even do long division yet.”
“And clearly a bad influence.” He pushed the laptop toward me. “Here. You want a turn at first-degree murder? Or are you just gonna judge me from the sidelines?”
I hesitated, staring at the screen. The little digital people moved around obliviously, their bright, cheery world a stark contrast to how I felt. “Fine,” I muttered, grabbing the mouse. “But we’re starting fresh. Let's make the sim have a family no killing anyone this time.”
“Boring,” he groaned, but leaned back to let me take over.
We spent hours arguing or rather insignificant little details like the pattern of wallpaper, window placement and whether or not the house should have a door not.
“You have no taste,” I told him, clicking furiously to delete the third karaoke machine he’d added to the living room.
“And you have no vision,” he shot back, grinning.
It was easy to forget everything else when I was with Soleh, his carefree attitude was contagious in the best way. But as the game autosaved and the screen dimmed, reality crept back in.
I glanced toward the hallway where my dad’s office was. The door was shut, like always, a faint murmur of his voice leaking through the crack as he spoke on yet another work call.
