If I Can't Have You - Page 4

It’s weird you know, I mean how much passion can one expect out of a high school relationship? I didn’t go into it expecting any. Well, I take that back I expected something. I expected to more than like him, but after six months of the same old, same old I dumped him because after six months if you don’t feel the way you should in a relationship there’s no point in dragging it on further. And I didn’t feel the way I should have.

Truthfully, there’s only one guy I ever felt that way about and he saved me from drowning when I was fifteen. I don’t think I’ve obsessed over the guy for the last three years just because he saved me from drowning, even though it was very noble of him and it was his job. I think I’ve obsessed over him because he’s beyond beautiful, and charming, and sweet, and way out of my reach. He’s unattainable in so many aspects. And you always want what you can’t have.

He has a girlfriend, a girlfriend that matches him equally in the beauty department. And that’s only one of the reasons why he’s out of my reach. The other is, well, I don’t think I’m very pretty. Well, at least not like his girlfriend pretty. I’m plain with pale skin, emerald eyes, and thick auburn hair. I rarely wear makeup and I’d much rather wear jeans and a hoodie than get all dressed up for the day.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely insecure. I know that I’m smart, logical, easy going, and a lot of times can match Whit quip for quip in the quick-witted comebacks department so I have that going for me.


There are some times where I wish I didn’t feel like I lacked so much in the looks department and I wish that society didn’t make it such a huge part of our everyday lives.

I mean I consider myself to average looking and normal and it would be nice if the media would consider normal as sexy.

I never see a girl like me on the cover of a magazine, or in movies, or even dating the hottest guy in school. For God’s sake I don’t think the resident hottie in my grade even knows my name. Well, I take that back, he knows my name, but has a hard time remembering it.

And I’ve sat next to him in AP English for the last two years.

Every day in class he’d sit down across from me and whisper, “Hey. You.”

One time I corrected him, “My name is Robin.”

He’d nodded and flashed me a flawless yet fake smile. “Right. Robin. Yeah, do you have the homework from yesterday?”

I just shook my head and handed over my paper.

I don’t why I gave it to him. Maybe it was because I thought that he might somehow remember me the next time and actually say my name.

I was wrong.

A week later when I actually thought he might remember my name he said, “Hey. You.” Again.

That’s pretty much how my high school career has gone thus far. I’m a ‘you.’ Invisible and just another nameless face in the crowd.

Mom and I stop in front of the administration building. “Sweetheart, I’m going to go find a bathroom. That four hour car ride did me in.”

“Okay, mom. I’m just going to wait here for you.”

“You don’t have to go to?”

“No. I didn’t drink my weight in iced tea.”

Mom laughs and shakes her head then walks inside the administration office, asks the receptionist a question, and I’m assuming it’s; where’s your restroom? Then she turns left down a hallway.

I prop myself up against the side of the door and wait. Then it occurs to me that maybe I should wait for Mom inside. When she comes out of the bathroom I’m going to need to be in there anyway, so I pivot on my heel and grip the door handle. And just when I do someone pushes on the door from the inside and smacks me in the face with it.


I’m seeing tiny white dots and I stagger backwards, eyes closed, hands covering my face as a sharp pain stabs my forehead. Dammit! That hurt like hell.

“Dude, I’m so sorry.” A guy’s low voice rings out in my ears. “I didn’t even see you there.”

The pain intensifies and throbs beneath my skin and I can feel a goose egg forming on the right side of my forehead. “Don’t you pay attention to where you’re going?” I ask nasally, hands still covering my face, eyes watering up.

“I could say the same thing to you.” The guy lets out a soft laugh and I’m sure he wouldn’t be laughing if he was in as much pain as I am at the moment.

My whole head feels like its splitting open and I move my hands up my cheeks and touch the spot that’s swelling. “Ouch.”

“Here let me see it.” My assailant moves closer and I drop my hands. His soft fingertips glide over my forehead and he pokes the bump gently with his forefinger. I wince. “Well,” he says softly. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

Tags: Lauren Hammond Romance
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