I remember when I first saw her, my mind went quiet. For someone with OCD, your mind is never quiet. But when I saw her, I felt some sort of peace inside my mind. I instantly knew I had to talk to her. She was sitting alone, wearing a beautiful blue dress. I sat next to her and fixed my tie.

" Why are you alone?" I asked.

" Oh, my friends just went off with their dates, so I decided to wait here for them." She explained.

" What's your name?" I couldn't help but look at the loose strand of hair on her face. I tried fighting the urge to move it but eventually lost and slowly tucked the long blonde strand behind her ear.

She blushed slightly and smiled " I'm Astrid. What's yours?" Her voice was so sweet and soft, I had noticed that she had a slight accent, perhaps some sort of nordic dialect.

" Nikolai." I answered " Would you be my date?" I asked that question about six times in thirty seconds, she said yes right after the third one but it didn't feel right so I had to ask again and again.

The music changed to a slow song, I stood up and straightened my shirt before holding out my hand " Dance with me"

She took my hand and I made sure we were perfectly positioned before we began to dance. She had an overwhelming smell that clung onto my clothes when we were apart. It was a nice smell, like the smell of fresh roses after that first spring shower. Eventually her friends dragged her away. However, we exchanged numbers soon afterwards, I typed her number in about five different times just to ensure it was he right number and we would constantly text each other. After that night, I made sure I got to see her in person everyday. So, everyday after her fourth period, I would walk her to class. Sometimes we chatted before or after school, and we even went out to lunch together at least twice a week. However the most consistent thing was that five minutes between fourth and fifth periods.

Three months later, I asked her out. I did it at the park when the temperature was exactly 75 degrees fahrenheit and when the flowers were completely bloomed. It felt so right that I only needed to ask once. That was the first time I ever felt her lips press against mine. They were so soft like the petals of a new rose. I repeated that kiss five times, just to ensure I was doing it right. When we went on our first real dinner date, I spent more time making sure my food didn't touch than I did eating it or fucking talking to her. On the way home, we took the long way because damn there were so many cracks and puddles on the sidewalk. We climbed the roof of her house that night and watched the stars, I told her I could never stop counting them just as I could never stop loving her. At my house we spent a lot of time in my room, it was the first time I had ever felt the desire to touch somebody in the ways that I wanted to touch her, and I did.

A whole year and a half went by, things began to change. When she told me she loved me, which was getting less constant, her lips formed a straight line. She never blushed when she saw me anymore. She never made the initial move when it came to affection anymore. She was always busy with something and could never call me or spend time with me. Then one day, she came up to me after school with a grim look on her face.

" Nikolai..." She started " I know it's been a year and a half, but I think we should go our separate ways"

I furrowed an eyebrow " What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me?"

" I'm sorry, but it has to be this way. You've been taking up too much of my time and quite frankly letting you get attached to me was the worst thing I could do for you. I'm so sorry..." She then turned around and walked away before I could say anything else to her, only being able to watch what kept me sane(er) disappear.

I went home that night and refused to talk to anybody. I walked into my room, which was perfect in terms of organization, and threw my bag onto the floor. I began to knock things down, tear my posters, knock down my lamp and punch the walls. My breathing intensified as I looked around before running my hands through my ashy blonde hair and falling onto my knees. Suddenly I had done something I hadn't done in so long.

I began to cry.
I screamed.
And I grabbed that razor again and began slicing symmetrical lines down my wrists.

A week passed and I saw her one day holding hands with a blond british boy who was once my friend years ago. She seemed so happy with him, and he seemed so happy with her. It sickened me to the point where I felt dizzy and I eventually got a migraine. They say that it wasn't love but rather just a crush. But how could it be not love when she was the only person I could touch without needed to go wash my hands? How can it not be love when my obsessions have all been nasty things I wanted to be rid of and then finding that she was the only beautiful thing I had ever gotten stuck to? The answer is simple;

It was love.