Things Left Unsaid

Strong

Wish upon a star, and your dreams will come true. Isn't that the old fairytale saying?

I was never one for fairytales. My father had always told me that it was wrong to like princesses and magic and romance. He was one of those men who enforced gender stereotypes, and believed that boys should like sports and playing rough, while girls should enjoy ballet and playing dress-up.

I did dislike fairytales. But not for that reason.

My mother would secretly read a couple timeless classics to me when I was younger. I treasured those times, and the fantasy books she'd bring me. I was sick of all the non-fiction and factual books my father forced me to read. A kid's got to have some sort of imagination, no?

As I grew older, I found comfort in reading fantasy, adventure and mystery books. I liked the fictional worlds that they created, and how imaginary things were described so vividly, you felt like you were actually there. I can't tell you the amount of times I locked myself in a wardrobe after reading The Chronicles of Narnia, hoping that I could be chosen to enter that world. I liked all the action, how the wars in the books seemed to represent actual modern day problems. But most of all, I loved all the strong characters.

You see, the one thing that bothered me about classic fairytales was all the damsels in distress. I didn't think it was realistic. All the big, strong men saving beautiful girls who constantly got themselves into trouble because they were either too stupid or too weak - what the hell was up with that?

For goodness' sake, my mom was the smartest and strongest person I knew!

Until I met you.

Maybe that's why I felt like we got along so well, so quickly. When you saved me that day on the beach (though again, I didn't really need saving), it reminded me of all those stories I used to read, such as Snow-White, or Cinderella, or Little Red Riding Hood - except the roles were reversed.

You didn't even look nervous or scared in the slightest. And I admired that. Because women are not weak. There are many strong, beautiful women out there who show that.

And you were one of them.

You may ask, where are you going with this?

Back to the beach.

While talking about almost everything under the sun, we had exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up again sometime.

So we did.

Except once turned into much more.

And just like that, we became closer. Maybe not exactly close friends, but something along the lines of friends.

Over the many beach days and talk over food at various places, we discovered we had several common interests between us - one of them being our love for the Harry Potter series.

That being said, we weren't exactly two peas in a pod. If anything, we were complete opposites.

But one of our differences helped bring us together.

You hated olives. You absolutely despised them, which was saying a lot, because you were not a picky eater. You loved trying new delicacies, and never turned down food.

I, on the other hand, loved olives. I never did understand why you hated them so much. They were a gift from God.

We'll come back to that later. But for now - your strength.

Do you remember that September day, about two months after the beach incident? We had already met up countless times in the span of those few short months, and school was about to start again. We were eating at New York Fries, talking and dipping our no-longer-fresh french fries in cold gravy, as Sean and Lillian had already ditched the two of us, when he walked in.

I recall your reaction so clearly. We had been going over possible reasons for why Max and Ruby lived alone and never went to school, when you suddenly tensed and grew quiet, your eyes fixated on something in the distance. Though your expression was blank, I now know that the look in your eyes meant you wanted to leave.

So I had turned around to see what the reason for your sudden silence was, and understood instantly.

He was walking towards us, an arm slung around a pretty girl and an arrogant smirk on his face. I decided instantly that I didn't like him, or the way he was looking at you.

I'm sorry for bringing this up, I really am. But this all leads towards a point.

Now, at the time, I had no idea who he was, or why he was here, and I honestly didn't really care. However, I couldn't deny that I was curious - and that I could tell there was some sort of history between the two of you. Anyone could sense the tension from a mile away.

Then he greeted you, moving his hand from the brunette's shoulder to her waist.

I didn't like the way he said your name. He spoke it with such cruel disdain, and suddenly the smirk on his face seemed more like a sneer to me.

You returned the greeting civilly, even saying hello to the girl and offering nothing more. You had clearly indicated you wanted to end the conversation there, but he had other intentions.

The bastard then began kissing the girl, right in front of us. It was like they were playing tonsil hockey - and it was fücking disgusting. Even I was uncomfortable, and I didn't know who they were yet.

I didn't miss your flinch. I didn't miss the way your left fist began to clench as you blinked rapidly.

I had never wanted to punch anyone more.

Sure, I didn't know you that well. We had only been friends for two months - but even a blind man would be able to tell that this was causing you pain.

He knew it.

His smirk was only more daunting and malicious as he pulled away, the girl's face flushed, and both their lips slightly swollen.

And then he had the nerve to address you again, acting as if he had no idea what effect he had on you. When you didn't respond, he became aggressive and began calling you names.

The worst was yet to come.

I hate to remind you of this - but the next words he said made me want to kick his äss all the way to Mars.

So I stood. I was ready to knock his lights out.

But you grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back down. Locking eyes with me, you gave a silent shake of your head. Instantly, I knew what you were trying to say: that he wasn't worth it.

And I agreed. He wasn't worth even a fraction of a second of your time.

Because saying that he was happier without you and was glad that he had cheated was something that was unforgivable.

Instead of sitting, I gestured for you to stand, and we left, hearing his jeers behind us.

But you walked out holding your head high. You never once faltered or looked back, nor did you retaliate with saying something cruel back. You didn't slap him, or even let me punch him.

And you know what?

That showed tremendous strength.

I had never seen anything like it before. Usually, people would get caught up in the heat of the moment and begin kicking the shit out of their ex for saying that.

But not you.

You calmly told me the entire story as I drove you home. How you first met. How he asked you out. How you were happy together almost all throughout high school - until he cheated on you. With the girl he was with back at New York Fries.

And that was what surprised me most. You had not been hostile towards the girl he had cheated with. You had not said anything remotely hurtful, even though you were dating for four and a half years.

You weren't as strong as I initially thought.

You were stronger.

And that became one of the things I grew to love about you.