I’ve been betrayed before. It’s not a nice feeling. Me sitting in the dark while my brother is partying downstairs with all his friends and annoying me isn't nice either. What I’m doing now is to keep myself from thinking. I hate feelings. I hate emotions. They are of no use to me. I wish I could stop myself from feeling anything at all.

This is how it goes every Saturday night: my brother throws a party. Almost everyone from school piles up in our house and party till midnight then leaves the house destroyed as if a storm ran over it. My dear brother himself gets wasted to the point where when he wakes up he walks into a wall and then falls from the stairs while going downstairs.

The music from downstairs is so loud that it shakes my room. Sometimes I want to go downstairs and break off his speakers, tell them to go screw themselves and get out of my house. If only I spoke up.

If only I spoke up ever.

If only I told her I loved her.

No, I won’t go there. That’s dangerous territory.

Love; a laughable word. I didn’t believe in love and it’s not like I do now. Love doesn’t do any good to anyone, ever. Jason doesn’t believe that and he keeps trying and gets dumped every week. My mom believed in it and I don’t want to remind myself what that resulted in.

It’s more like an obsession.

My obsessions are never good for me. I look around in my room and notice my robots. An obsession that helps me stay sane. She’s the same.

I don’t even know her. Can you love someone without knowing them at all?

Maybe I do know her a little. Maybe more than she knows herself. I see the things she doesn’t see or maybe she is yet to see. I see her every day. I make sure to see her every day.

Like I said, an unhealthy obsession.

Yesterday, I saw her during lunchtime. She was there in the hall but she wasn’t. She was staring outside, her lunch untouched. Her face was blank of any expressions. Most of the time it is. She looks pretty that way.

I wish I was blank. I wish it didn’t feel like my heart is squeezing when I look at that girl whom I don’t even know that much.

All I know is her name, Gwen. Bradbury. She’s a junior like me. She is alone most of the time. She is quiet. She is on her own. She seems like she is living up in the clouds away from all of us. She is floating.

I remember that day when I almost intentionally ran into her. But at the last second, I changed my route and didn't bump into her, like the coward I am. We would’ve crashed into each other. Because she wasn’t seeing where she was going and I was seeing exactly where I was going.

She didn’t see me. She never does.

That’s not a surprise. Nobody notices me even if I’m in front of them. So how will a girl who lives in the clouds will see me?

Jason told me several times. Talk to her. Make friends with her. Ask her out. DO SOMETHING.

Well, umm. Not happening I guess.

Because I refuse to feel anything. I refuse to feel emotions. I refuse to fall in love.

I am afraid what will happen if I know her, if we come closer. I will fall so hard, so deep that I will never be able to get out of it.

So it’s better this way.

I hear a commotion. Someone is in my bedroom. Didn't I lock it? I should have. Did someone break-in? What the heck.

My room is not for anyone to sneak in. I always make sure to keep both of my rooms locked on Saturdays. I remember that one time I didn’t and some teenagers thought it’s their private hotel room. I learned my lesson after that.

I hurry out of the computer room.

Shit. The door is open. How did that happen? I check my pockets and find my keys. Maybe I was so in my head I forgot. That’s why. That’s exactly why I hate feelings.

The washroom light is on and I hear someone throwing up.

No.

No.

No way.

Cleaning the house is okay. Draining the pool is alright. Sweeping the floor is borderline okay but cleaning someone else’s... No way in hell.

I hurry towards my toilet and step in.

Time freezes.

“What the hell!” I utter.

It’s her.

It’s her.

It’s her.

How? What? How on earth? Why? Why?

Is this the universe playing some dirty trick on me?

She looks devastated. She is sitting there in a black hoodie and a pair of denim, with her hands over her stomach, besides the pan, as if she just threw up. Well, she did. She has sweats covering her face and her hair is chapped on her forehead. Her lips look dry and she has a little left off liquid there. Probably what she threw up. Alcohol.

She is the girl I love. Gwen Bradbury.

This is where I am meeting her for the first time, in my toilet where she is throwing up after she got drunk.

But why? Why is she drunk? What the hell happened?

“What the hell are you doing here?” My words come out harsher than I intended. It’s better this way. Or else.

She looks up at me and narrows her eyes a little. I have to remind myself I don’t know her in person and she doesn’t know me. I have to remind myself that she doesn't probably even know my name and no, I can't pick her up right now in my arms.

“You are not Owen,” Gwen says.

I stare at her.

Out of all the things she could have said. Out of all the scenes I have imagined inside my head about what will happen when I meet her the first time, when she notices me. It was never these words.

I am not Owen.

Why did I expect something different? Maybe because I like her. I thought she would be different from others, that she will-

What’s the point? I should just wear a sign on my back saying, I am not Owen.

“I don’t remember your name, but I'm trying,” She tells me hugging her stomach, looking a bit troubled as if she is afraid she will throw up again.

Oh, God. No, I can’t sit down there and wipe her sweats off and hug her. Nope.

She doesn’t even know my name.

I was right. The universe really is playing it dirty with me.

When does it ever play fair?

“Get. Out.” I say.

Yeah, right. That will work, Oliver. Push her away. Far away. Act exactly the opposite of how you actually want to act. That always works.

“It’s really hard to remember your name. Do you know why I remember your brother’s name? Because it’s Owen. It rhymes with mine. Gwen, Owen. Gwen, Owen,” She says and doubles over in laughter.

Her laughter echoes in the enclosed space.

It reminds me of a distant memory. Everything would have been different if I didn't hear her laugh that night.

“You’re not nice. Owen is nice. I am sure your brother would have helped if I puked in his washroom,” Gwen comments.

Oh yes, he would have. He would also have your number and a week later you will be in his bed.

That makes my stomach suddenly feel hot as if I want to punch something. I clench my hands into fists.

“If he’s so nice why didn’t you puke in his washroom?” I say.

Why did you have to come in here? Why did you do this to me, Gwen? It’s all your fault.

“You absolutely hate your brother,” Gwen says with a knowing smirk.

I get surprised and it might show on my face because Gwen’s smirk gets wider.

“You don’t like your brother, at all. Why? You guys have a history? Did he break your toy? Or was it a girl? Did he steal your girlfriend?”

Is it that obvious?

“What did he do?” Gwen asks with genuine interest.

He did all of that, to be honest. But it’s not like I cared. I cared too little about that relationship. I should have felt worse than I felt but I didn’t. The only thing that hurt me was him doing it. I don’t care about Scarlet cheating on me. I don’t even know how I ended up dating her in the first place. But Owen. Owen doing that to me was far worse.

I look at her, “You talk way too much.”

She smiles a little. My feet automatically take a step towards her.

Nope.

“Why haven’t you flushed yet?”

She snorts, “It’s actually the opposite. I am quiet most of the time.”

For the first time tonight, I feel like laughing. Little do you know, Gwen.

“Tell me, what did your brother do to deserve your hatred?” She adds as she stands up. She wipes her hand on her denim. I almost sigh.

My heart is burning for some reason and I hate it way too much.

“Look Something Carlson,” She says as I look at her face, “No, I didn’t have a bad break-up. No, I am not out of my mind. No, I am not depressed. No, I don’t take drugs. I fled from my house to come to this party. I forgot to wear the appropriate attire. Sorry for that.”

I blink. Then I take a deep breath. Why does it hurt so much?

“Hey, I’ll keep calling you Something Carlson until I can remember your name. That’s cool, right? I hope you don’t hold a grudge. When it comes to me, people always hold a grudge. I don’t even know why,” She shakes her head.

I wonder who holds a grudge. I wonder why she is here tonight. I wonder what might have happened that turned the Gwen I knew into this Gwen she has become.

The Gwen I knew, I first saw, was a happy-go-lucky person. The first time I saw her she was laughing her heart out at someone’s joke. Beside her stood Dean, the guy who didn’t deserve her at all. She was surrounded by people, her friends or acquaintances.

Then time passed and things started to change and now I find her throwing up in my washroom.

My heart aches a little. The lodge in my throat has nothing to do with me and everything to do with this girl standing in front of me staring at the mirror at her blank face. She gurgles and then washes her face. She laughs out loud.

If she doesn’t get out of here right now, I swear to God I will do something. I will creep her out.

She doesn’t even know my name.

“Are you ever going to get out?” I say.

“Why? This is a free country and I can stay wherever I want,” She replies, being stubborn, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, it isn’t. You are going out of this room, right now.” I argue.

“What will you do if I don’t? And newsflash it’s your parents’ house, not yours,” She says.

Well, if they think they are my parents when I don’t even see their faces more than twice a year. Once during Christmas and once during Owen’s birthday.

I have to see his face every Sunday. My dear beloved father. I don’t really look at him or talk to him so I don’t think that counts as seeing his face.

“You don’t know anything,” I mumble as I get out of the washroom after her.

Suddenly, Gwen stumbles backward and before deciding what to do, I catch her shoulders and stop her from falling.

My breath gets stuck in my chest and my heart starts beating like I ran a race.

Calm down, Oliver. Calm down. It’s just her shoulders. She was falling so you had to catch her.

My hands start to sweat.

Oh, for the love of God.

I am never seeing her again. Ever again. Screw this shit. Love is overrated.

Gwen realizes I caught her so I say, “Easy, I don’t want you to bash your head on my floor.”

She shakes my hands away, “I am okay.”

The irony makes me roll my eyes, “Of course you are.”

She stares at me. Then she turns sideways and notices the bed in the middle of my room. She walks right towards it and sits on the edge.

This is as close as I will ever get to her in this lifetime; her sitting on my bed.

“Great,” I say, “Now I can’t get you out of here. Who knows when you will decide to kiss the floor again.”

She looks around in my room with her big brown eyes. A little smile creeps up on her face. She looks at the poster of the Pink Floyd that Jason gave me. I never listened to their songs. I have a guitar lying around. I don’t know how to play it either. It was a birthday gift from Owen.

Gwen then flops down on my bed and says, “You’re right. I’d rather kiss this bed.”

I almost smile so I hide my expression with a poker face, looking annoyed, “Yeah, because why not?”

“Want to join me?”

Say what now?

How many drinks did she have to ask me that? I know Gwen. She is not one who will say something like that.

Or will she?

“You are still very much drunk,” I comment.

“So? You’re gonna be the responsible one? I promise I will go easy on you,” She says with an air of confidence.

I am so glad she didn't actually go to Owen’s room. So glad.

While I am grateful she is here, the lower parts of my body doesn’t get the memo that I can’t actually logically join her although she is telling me to.

Way to go, Oliver. Way to go.

“Come on, join me in the bed. It’s your bed, after all.”

If she keeps insisting and I start thinking with my male organs instead of my brain, I might.

But that is not going to happen. I wonder if she will remember any of this. If she does, just how embarrassed she would feel?

“Someday I will really join you,” I mutter under my breath. Some day.

*****
A/N: here take this