Surrounding Orange

No one understands. No one will ever get close to understanding me.

I have an undying obsession with my only friend. People just don’t see what I see when I tell them about it, what it includes. I’m mistaken for a stalker and I wouldn’t say that, I wouldn't call myself that. Of course not, though, I am talking about myself. Here’s the sitch with me and him. I met him about three months ago and while that may not sound like too long of a time before you begin to pine over someone, I’m the type of person to quickly get to be attached. That’s my excuse–isn’t it great? I’m like a leech, latching on as soon as a foot enters its waters. And now that I have my teeth sunk in, best believe I'm not going to let go! I’ll rip him apart before I let go, take a piece to treasure if he ever decides to leave me. Whether I frame the pictures I've taken when he isn't looking my way or find a place for the piece of hair I snipped off his head from a sleepover last week, I will do something. I will remind myself when he leaves me that he isn’t really gone. He’s just out of my line of sight, yeah, that’s it. Everyone says it when someone close or your dog dies, “they’re in your heart.” He’s right there, I shouldn't have to worry so much! But I do.

I hate when it happens so much. But it does anyways, it comes and goes throughout the day. The times when I think that’s exactly what’s going to happen one day. I’ll be laying in my bed like I always am and turn to stare at the ceiling. Count the flecks and bumps of the popcorn walls surrounding me. That's when I stop feeling the nips of the bed bugs I'm too lazy to do something about and I think about him. I always am, I mean, he's always on my mind, but not like this. This is different. This doesn’t make me smile, it makes my hands shake. This is the consideration that there will come a day when he completely stops talking to me. I’ve always been a very emotional person, so quick to cry. And that’s exactly what happens. Tears come down and fill the short expanse that are the corners of my eyes, like heavy and lingering raindrops on a car window. Refusing to fall, until the weight gets to be a little too heavy. And I ask myself through the sobs that tear their way up my throat and out of my mouth, how could I let this happen? How did I let my adoration for him get to a point like this? It scares not only others, but me too.

And with that adoration, I want to know everything about him. Not just something basic, I want to dig deep into his persona. I want to know his hobbies and what four walls he sleeps in every night. What his favorite color is and what scares him—that reminds me. I never knew his favorite color. I’m lying in bed now when I remembered it, realization hitting me like a sledgehammer over the head. It’s a wound of urge. I need to know what it is, and I need to know now. That’s what it is for me all the time, I need to know right away before I forget. So I turn towards the desk propped up next to my bed and grab my phone, turning it on and entering my eight-digit pass code. My eyes feel hot as I turn the screen on and strain due to how much time I spend on it, how much time I spend talking to him over it. But I remind myself that it’s worth it and open my Messages app, his chat the only one on the screen that pops up.

He’s such a priority, I deleted all the other pesky ones. Get rid of every one of the other distractions that are people I know. They get in the way. I've even been thinking about blocking every one of those contacts except him, never giving them the chance ever again to tell me that my feelings for him are wrong and would make him uncomfortable. I don't want to hear it, I refuse to believe that he doesn't like me. My hands start shaking around my phone and I squeeze it tighter, the rubber of my phone case indenting. There are cracks running through the glass just because of this, when I accidentally hold on too tight and it’s too much weight to hold on. Evidence of how hard my emotions hit me when they have to do with him. He ruins me so bad, he’s changed me so much for the worse more than for the better. I won't ever care.

HI JAMES !!! ♡

I send a text, jittery with excitement. I pick my feet up and swing them back and forth in the air, almost able to feel the blood rushing through my ankles. I’m always so happy to talk to him, no matter what we say to one another. It normally takes him a long while to text me back, but I've adjusted to it I suppose. My mind comes up with enough excuses that I stopped caring all that much about how it goes. All I need is to talk to him once a day, and I'll be sane with that. And if I don't, then—oh look, he texted me back! It’s unusual, so much sooner than it usually is instead of how normally, it takes hours. And it's been less than a minute? Maybe he was already online when I said hi.

Hi Violet

OMG HOW ARE YOUUU

Fine

YAYYY I'M SO HAPPY!! HOPE YOURE DOING WELL

Cool

This is the best time I'm ever gonna get. It’s a wide opening to ask about one of the few simple things I don't know about him yet. I want to word this perfectly, thinking about it before I continue typing.

OH WAIT I wanted to ask you something!

What do you want

What is your favorite color? :)

I don’t have one

WHATTT I’ve never heard of someone that doesn't have one!

Orange ig

Orange? That’s the one color he likes? I’ve never heard of something like that before from someone, but I don't question it; instead, I write it down. There’s a pile of bright yellow sticky notes, a few layers in the stack munched on by pesky silverfish. I separate one from the pile and set it on the desk, writing something down and avoiding the small, spiny holes so I don’t rip the paper in two halves. James likes orange. Just so I don't forget it, I put it up on the wall beside my bed with a piece of tape along the top edge just to make sure it never falls. And now, it’s something to look at right before I go to sleep and wake up. I always lay facing the wall on my side. It’s just one part of me that never changed and never will, no matter what happens. Because I know change, it's quite familiar.

I've changed so much for James. Enough that if I were to ever look back at who I was two months ago, there’s a chance that I wouldn't think she and I are the same girl.

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Ten days later, I don’t have to question if she and I are the same girl or not. I’m very sure that we aren’t at the rate I’m going, and never will be again.

I never liked orange all that much. I thought it was a very bright and cheery color, and neither of those words can be used to describe me. It’s just not who I am. I once lived inside of four off-white walls, with dull colored furniture. Shades of gray, tan, black, things like that. And now, I find myself standing in my doorway, looking into my room. All the furniture has been pushed into a pile near the middle of the room. The walls are painted orange and in my arms, I’m holding an Amazon box holding orange, leather covers for the chairs and couch to match a sort of theme I have going on now. I breathe in through my nose and let it flow out of my mouth, slowly breathing toluene in and out. I step onto the carpet and walk into the bedroom, walking down the path made between the wall and the furniture. I have to reach my hand up to glide my hand across my desk as I pass by it, fingertips running smoothly across the sealed wood.

My phone is on my bed. I hear it buzz against the sheet, a notification coming through. I stop walking and turn to look at it. My bed is luckily not very far from my desk, just beside it with how it’s normally positioned. I only take two steps before I reach down and pick my phone up, looking towards the top left end of the screen. A text message. I scroll up and unlock my phone, opening my Messages app. It’s from James. I smile, expecting it to be something sweet. I open the line and it’s filled with messages, flooded with a paragraph he sent to me. That was unusual. I had gotten used to his short and blank messages, unsure of what to think about this now. But I scroll up to the end where they start and begin to read. The further I go, the further I can feel the blood drain from my face until my skin turns as pale as a ghost.

Hey Violet. I’m sorry for this, I never thought I would have to and I never wanted to have to. But I do now, it’s for the best. By the time you may be reading this, I’ve blocked you. I told my friends about you. I talk to them a lot about how you act around me. And it took me so long to realize, but this just isn't very healthy, what I have going on with you. This is just a mess. You really unsettle me. I can tell you’re in love with me, and I just don't feel the same way. So maybe if I go, you’ll have the chance to forget about your feelings. I hope you can because I feel bad for not being able to return them. I will never be able to, you just aren't my type. You aren't made to be mine. I’ve started to be scared of you, Violet. You're so overwhelming, your love is just so much to handle. So much to process. I cant live like this, i cant spend another day trying to excuse it. Trying to brush it off or just live with it, I can't. But I wish you the best. You need it, you need serious help that I can't give you. But I hope you find someone that can give that to you one day.

By the time that I finished reading the paragraph, I was crying. And normally, I’m emotional and will cry over just about anything sad. But this isn’t one of those times, this hits so much harder. This is so much more serious. I hold my phone with both hands and hold it closely to my chest, turning my head down to stare at the floor. Tears roll down my cheeks and leave damp spots on the carpet I stand on. One runs over my lips, salty and heavy. I don’t wipe my face, I just hold the phone to my chest and stand doubled over in place. The weight of my actions, of what I did to push him away, weighs heavy on my shoulders and I fall to my knees. Like a devotee giving prayer, I lean over until my forehead touches the ground, closing my eyes. I don’t want to look at anything and if I have to, I want it to be the floor.

Because I'm surrounded in bright orange, after all. James’ color, that’s the only thing I can think of it as now and forever.