Ryan and I had grown up together as childhood friends. I was quiet and introverted; he was a brash little tyrant.
Fearless with everyone else, but always gentle with me.
If someone bullied me, he’d sneak over at night to smash that person’s yard in retaliation.
I grew used to his blatant favoritism. But once Ryan went to college, he fell in love at first sight with Emily Scott, the campus beauty.
He courted her publicly, sending truckloads of roses to her dorm.
Even after repeated rejections, he wouldn’t give up, so infatuated he could barely eat or sleep.
When Emily left to study abroad, Ryan knelt for three hours at the airport in front of everyone, to no avail.
Afterward, he was so distraught that he got into a car accident.
I saved him—donating half my blood.
From then on, I cared for him meticulously.
Until, eventually, that care extended to his bed.
The morning after, I awoke to find an empty box of cigarettes by his side.
He said nothing, but his despair vanished, and he was gentle with me again.
I thought he had finally let go.
I thought he had finally accepted me.
But now I understood—it was all my wishful thinking.
What one cannot obtain in youth often becomes a lifelong obsession.