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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Me at my most honest. I consider it to be a good story, but you might hate it.

Submitted: February 12, 2014

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Submitted: February 12, 2014















By Peter Jussila



She was sleeping. There were two empty bottles of wine on the table along with two glasses. The glass in front of me still had a little wine left in it and I tried to reach it, but quickly realized that I couldn’t. Her head was resting on the arm rest of the small white couch and her legs were stretched all the way out to the other side, effectively trapping me. I was still sitting upright facing the TV, but I was looking at her, her hair shining like gold in the dim light in the white painted room. She had grabbed the blanket covering us both and pulled it all the way up to her chin. I guessed that she had been sleeping for about half an hour and I was getting rather tired of watching whatever they showed on the Discovery Channel around four o’clock that night, but there was no way of changing the channel. The remote was on the table next to my wine glass. I carefully fished my phone out of my pocket, while making sure that I didn’t move too much so as not to wake her. I pushed the only button on the front of the phone and the screen lit up. Before unlocking it I checked that the silent mode was activated, it was. I stared at the screen and it stared back. I realized that I had no reason for looking at my phone. I was starting to get mind numbingly tired and it was now so late that it was dangerously close to being early, but I couldn’t get myself to wake her up. I sat there until her brother came home, walked through the living room where we were sitting, said “Hi” and walked downstairs. She woke up just as he left the room.


Sometime in august 2010 my first semester at high school started. I had applied for two schools; one I really wanted to go to and another one just to be safe. I only go in to my safety school, and rather annoyed I found myself in a class where the majority of my classmates were posh teenagers. These people had applied to this school and this school only, because it was rumored to be a place for easy grades and also considered to be one of the “cool” high schools. I was mildly dissatisfied to say the least, so I did my best trying to make them transfer me to the other school. I talked to the counselor my first day and kept seeing her almost every day after that for about two months. I would knock on her door and ask if she had heard anything about a place for me opening up at the other school yet and she would answer politely, but always said that there was nothing she could do. They all said that, but someone had to be able to do something. There was a waiting list to get in to the school and if I remember correctly I was number 7 when the semester started. I kept visiting the counselor and calling the counselor for the school I wanted to transfer to almost every day. I even sent emails to the principals of both schools asking for my transfer. The reasons for my obsession with transferring were firstly that I really wanted to study media and not just the regular subjects and secondly that I really didn’t like the other students that much. There were a couple of nice people that I didn’t have anything against, but the majority of the students were not quite my cup of tea. All the girls thought about was looking as hot as they possibly could and all the guys thought about was pussy and partying. They didn’t even pity the poor plebian they saw me as. They would all describe themselves as aristocrats and maybe even know what it meant if they weren’t so busy spending their fathers money. We were nice to each other at school and had fun, but I never hung out with any of them after hours or in the weekends. Because of this I was rather surprised when I eventually left the school and my classmates responded with all writing: “Judas!” on my Facebook wall.

“Oh my god, poor you, weren’t you angry with them?” I was asked by a Swedish bartender a couple of years later when I told her the story.

“No” I answered. “They only showed that they cared for me and that is more than I can say I did for them, so I was actually rather happy with their reaction” But now, back to my obsession with switching schools. I had a couple of friends at the school I wanted to switch to but way fewer than I had at my current school. About two months into the semester I finally got accepted to transfer, even though I was number four on the waiting list. The hard work had paid off and I could now leave the piece of shit school with the posh teens to go to another school where I would get to study media. The switching of schools would also land me in the same class as her, and if I hadn’t transferred then I would most likely never write these words.


I don’t remember my first day at the new school too clearly, but I remember being aware of the fact that I was coming to a school two months after the semester had started. This meant that everyone had already gotten to know each other, friendships had been made and clicks had been formed, but I couldn’t seem to get myself to give a shit about that. I met my new teacher at the door and as we walked towards the classroom I already knew that we wouldn’t get along. She would later prove to be one of the more useless teachers in the faculty, but never mind her. On my first day I really don’t remember seeing the girl that is the true subject of this story, but I remember seeing a girl I had met a couple of years earlier and not really liked at that time, and little did I know that she was going to annoy the shit out of me on several occasions in the coming years. My teacher asked me to stand up and tell the class my name and a little bit about myself. I hated that. She asked me what schools I had gone to before coming there, and I answered before sitting back down. The students at the new school were nothing like the ones at the old one. No one looked too posh and there were a lot of weird looking people walking around. People with hats, face paint, weird make up and even costumes were almost always present. But those freaks are not that important for now. What I really want to talk about is her, and as I previously stated I really don’t remember her from my first day at the new school and we didn’t really become friends that semester, so I’ll have to fast forward in my story about a year and a half to get to a point when I remember more clearly.


I was in a relationship with a girl, but it was not with her. We had been together for about nine months before we broke up and although I won’t go into detail about my relationship with this girl or why we broke up what I will say that she on several occasions complained that I mentioned her too much, that girl from my class. Why did I mention her so often, she questioned me. I explained it away but I think that I on some level knew even then that I had feelings for her. During my second year at the high school I now had a group of friends but she was sadly not one of them. This year I started talking to her more and more at school and I had obtained her phone number and texted her every time I felt that I had a valid excuse. For a while I texted her almost every morning, my excuse being that I wanted someone to ride the bus with, and I was just wondering which bus she was taking that day. Any day I could take the bus with her was infinitely better than a day without that bus ride. Sometimes we had little to talk about and were both tired from having to wake up so early, but I would always rather be sitting with her than with anyone else, even if we weren’t talking. In class I would grab any chance I had to look at her, but not in a creepy way. When I looked at her all my other sensory inputs seemed to fade. One day I noticed that she had a small scar on her chin; the scar was horizontal and not really visible unless she tilted her head back. I smiled when I first saw the scar, but quickly wiped the smile off my face. Why was I smiling? Well, I thought the scar was kind of cute in a way. It’s hard to explain and I don’t really expect the reader to understand, but the scar did nothing to me. She was so beautiful and her appearance so flawless that she, pardon the overused comparison, resembled an angel. The scar brought her down to earth. It brought her into my reach. She was so naturally stunning and the small scar just made her unique. Even in the filthy flickering fluorescent light of our classroom her beauty was as breathtaking as it always had been. I might be rambling now, but this is how I really felt. She was, and is something special and she would occupy my mind every day from around June of 2012.


The summer between my second and my last year at school I thought about her a lot. My last year of school we had all new classes, and we were no longer in the same room like we had been every day the two previous years. Now we would be separated by walls whenever we were at school. I cursed whoever made that decision but there was nothing that could be done. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of weeks into the last year before I asked her if she wanted to do something some time. I think that was how it happened at least. Because of my incredibly bad memory I will supply the reader with two alternatives to how this next thing happened. The first: After a couple of weeks of school I had gathered enough courage to ask her if she wanted to do something with me some time. I asked her and she said yes.The second, which I now see is more likely to be the way it happened is this: After attending a party a mutual friend of ours was throwing we found ourselves walking home together, seeing as we were both going the same direction. The walk would take around 45 minutes and it was just me and her. When we were walking past a couple of bars near where we both live, a couple of drunken guys in their fifties stopped us. One of the men said something along the lines of:

“Do you think you know anything about anything?”

It was instantly obvious to me that the two men had thought up this little question whilst drinking, and that they thought it would stun anyone confronted with it. I was trying to answer the question posed by the two inebriated gentlemen, but she kept pulling my arm. I gave up. We had now walked for about 45 minutes and I had decided to take a detour just so I could walk with her for a bit longer. We were walking slowly along the sidewalk parallel to the road and the subway lines in the yellow light from the tall metal street lights above us, and my mind was going a hundred miles an hour; “Did she know that I liked her? Did she have any idea? Did she like me? I should try to hug her when I leave! No, she won’t hug me. Will she?I had never hugged her before and I usually hug all my female friends whenever we meet. I was wondering what it would feel like to hug her. We got to the road where I had to go in and we stopped for a bit, finishing our conversation. We were talking about something along the lines of an after party some time, I can’t really remember what the specifics were, but I said that she would have to invite me to an after party at her place next time. I knew that this meant that it would just be us two, she knew that as well. She laughed and agreed. Before we parted I believe that I at least commented on the fact that we never hugged. I do not to this day remember if we hugged or not but never the less. Once around the corner I was literally skipping. I was so happy that I took a picture of myself with my cell phone just to remember the feeling. She was the reason for my happiness. Just that I got to talk to her and walk with her. I was thrilled. She was the last person I thought of that night before I fell asleep and the first person I thought of when I woke up the next morning.


A couple of weeks went by before I had the chance to go to her house. I regularly saw her at school and took the bus with her, but now I was going to her house on a Saturday.  I made sure that I had no other plans that night and also made sure that I had some alcohol to drink, I didn’t want it to get awkward. I was so looking forward to just being with her. In trying to remember the night in detail I fail miserably. What I do remember is that it was not only me and her. When I got to her house her friend from San Francisco was sitting on the couch. I said hello and we started talking. I was rather annoyed that it was not going to be just me and her, but I was happy to be there, even if her friend was there. I don’t remember much of that night, but I remember that she didn’t like the rum and coke I had brought. She didn’t have any ice cubes and neither the rum nor the coke had been in a refrigerator for a while so the drinks were rather lukewarm. What I do remember of the night was my preparation before going there. I had made sure that I had a clean outfit straight from the washing machine, complete with shoes that had not been used for a couple of days so that they wouldn’t smell. I had showered for about thirty minutes thoroughly washing my hair and body. I clipped my nails, shaved my face, put on deodorant and perfume. I was as prepared as I could be. I had spent at least one hour in preparation to look my best. When I got there she was wearing sweatpants, and judging by her clothing she had not left the house that day. I remember thinking that she looked as beautiful as she always had, perhaps even more so.

The next time I saw her was at school, and we had texted before that and planned that we would meet some other weekend as well. While going through the motions at school with friends, tests, parties and so on, I always had her in the back of my mind. Even though I didn’t consciously think of her, she was there. Whenever I got a text from her I would smile, even if I was in public, sitting on the bus alone. If she sent me a text I would smile, every time. I was lost in her. The next time I went to her house she was alone, and I was relieved. I brought a bottle of wine and we shared it. I had gone through my little “ritual” before leaving home that night as well and I still do every time I meet her. Showering and doing all I felt necessary. This was the first night we really got the chance to talk and I believe we talked for about eight hours that first night, the conversation only broken by the occasional bathroom visit or sip of wine. The wine bottle was empty before we knew it, and from that day on I would always bring two bottles whenever I came to her. The funny thing is that I really cannot for the best of me seem to remember what we talked about. All I remember was that we talked, and that I was happy. She was easy to talk to and she was a good listener. She was intelligent and she understood everything. Even though I was enjoying the conversation I was always thinking about kissing her. Every time I saw her I thought that all I wanted to do was to kiss her. If she had given me one small sign that she wanted me to kiss her than I would not hesitate for a second, but I couldn’t get myself to kiss her that first night, in hindsight I wish I had. That might have changed things, but who knows.


The following months we would start seeing each other regularly. We would meet almost every weekend, talking and drinking wine. It wasn’t long before the guys that I was friends with at the school started asking me about her. The question was always the same: “Have you fucked her yet?”

I despised the very question itself. I always answered that I hadn’t and gave them nothing more. I knew that they would eventually tire of asking me, and I also stopped telling them that I had been with her, so they would forget about the whole thing. The reason for me hating the question was and is to me obvious. I despised the question because it assumed that that was all I wanted from her. The people asking the question just by default thought that this was the only thing in my mind when I was with her, but they were wrong. Off course I was extremely attracted to her and I still think that she is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but sleeping with her was not the only thing in my mind. Just having the opportunity to be with her and talk was like nothing else, and the few times I kissed her I was instantly on cloud nine. I was happy that I even knew her, I was thrilled when I got to see her, I was overjoyed when we hugged and I was ecstatic when we kissed. I always said to my closest friends that if she suddenly said that she wanted to be in a romantic relationship with me; I would be there in a flash. I used to think of her when I was falling asleep and I still sometimes do. When she was at my house I always hoped that she wouldn’t leave, but she always did.

After a couple of months of us seeing each other practically every weekend and just being us two, I started wondering if she was interested in me in a romantic sense at all. We would talk for hours, drink wine and listen to music. I had summoned the guts to put my hand on her thigh while we were watching something on TV one night. We would talk or watch a movie and I would grace her thigh with my hand. She didn’t seem to mind, but she gave no signs as to whether she liked it or disliked it. I was at a loss. I had no idea what to do, but still I wouldn’t give up. I wanted her. One night I decided to lay all the cards on the table. I told her that I liked her; I told her that I didn’t know if she liked me and that I wanted to know what was going on. She replied that she wasn’t sure if she did or not. This to me was rather crushing information at that time. If you know you know, I thought to myself. I told her that there was no rush for her to decide whether she did or not, but that she should think about it. I kept repeating in my mind: “How could you not know? How could you not know?” but I would take “I’m not sure” over “I don’t” any day of the week. So I considered it a small victory. I believe that that was the night we first kissed. I was brushing her hair out of her face with my hand when we locked eyes. I leaned in to kiss her and time stopped. I think I was in shock. The kiss brought on a feeling of ecstasy and I was so happy that I didn’t know what to do. Her lips were touching mine. I had been imagining this moment for as long as we had been friends. It was more than my body could manage, I felt sick. “Shit!” I thought. Why now? I excused myself and said I had to go to the bathroom. To this day I believe that the amount of happiness and emotions that kiss brought out is what caused what happened next. I walked out of my room where we were sitting and walked out into the washing room. I stumbled across the room in the darkness and ripped open the next door, and the next door and the next door, getting as far away from her as possible. I found a sink and leaned down over it, I vomited. After hugging the sink for a couple of minutes I felt rather relieved. I was back in my happiness and cursed myself for leaving the woman on my dreams alone on my bed when we had just shared our first kiss. I walked to the bathroom and brushed my teeth quickly before returning to her. I walked back into the room, and immediately sensed that our first kiss was to be our last that night. After she left I was furious with myself for fucking up one of the best moments in my life thus far. I was so ashamed of what happened that I have to this day never told anyone about it. When I later would think about that day, all I could remember was us kissing and that she was as beautiful as she always was, in the dim light in my room. When thinking back while I am sitting here in a small apartment in Greece, I miss her more than ever. I wish she was here. Right now I would throw away everything I have written and tell her it all if she was here, but I have a feeling that my courage will fade before I get home to Norway.


During my teens I have had a habit of using a type of Norwegian tobacco.  I had been using it for about four years when we became friends and I soon found out the she didn’t really care for it. After a while I decided that if I stopped using the tobacco it might make her like me more, so I stopped. Off course I never told her that I stopped using it for her. That would be too grand of a gesture and would put too much pressure on the whole thing. I blamed me quitting on my dentist saying that my teeth looked terrible. I started using it again after I hadn’t seen her for about three or four months, but I stopped using it the day that I wrote this. She makes me want to be a better man.


We kept seeing each other all the time. Almost every weekend I would go to her house, or she would come to mine. One time a friend of mine at school said that if I was planning to have sex with her that I should do it as fast as possible. The statement came way out of left field and I was shocked. When I asked him why he was reluctant to answer but after a little persuasion he told me. He said that an old friend of hers and also of mine who was no longer living in Norway was coming back for the holidays. He had heard that I was seeing her a lot and he said that when he got home he was going to fuck her, whether I liked it or not. My friend was worried that this would happen, but I was laughing. I told him thanks for the tip but that I wasn’t too worried. I thought to myself that these guys really don’t seem to understand that a woman has a choice of her own. I knew that she would never sleep with him, so I was not worried, but the guys at my school seemed to think that if he wanted to sleep with her than she would just have to do it. This belief is to any thinking individual possibly one of the most preposterous and ridiculous beliefs there are, and I promise you that any feminist would be quick to get on her soap box if she heard that people still thought like this. These men were raised by their fathers who were again raised by their fathers, and you don’t have to go back many generations in any country before you find attitudes that woman are of lesser worth than men. An idea like this is rather hard to remove, especially when fathers teach their kids to think this way. I told her about his plans to fuck her and she reacted as I had done, with laughter. I wanted to spend all my time with her and nothing could seem to make me as happy as she did. I cherish the memories of those long nights where we talked for hours and drank wine until we fell asleep. Even as I was walking home in the middle of the night, tired and freezing, I was still as happy as can be. I hated walking home, not because the walk was long or too cold, but because I was walking away from her.


We continued seeing each other about every weekend. Drinking wine and talking. Sometimes we would watch a movie, but all I could think about was that I hoped she would lean over and snuggle up in my arms. I was pathetic. All I could think about was her, and for some reason it didn’t seem like the feeling was mutual. I started preparing my mind to forget about her and not care that she wasn’t interested. Some weeks it would seem like she was really interested in me and others it seemed like she was not at all.

We kept seeing each other after that night but it wasn’t too long until the semester was over. This was our last semester at school and we were both taking a gap year. We had talked about going to Paris for a while, just me and her and I was excited. I thought that I would get to spend more time with her now than ever before, but I was severely mistaken. After the summer was over and we were both back home and working, I tried to contact her. We had talked rather little over the summer and I missed her. We hadn’t had a proper conversation in over two months and I wanted to see her. We tried our best to find some day that we could meet, but we were both very busy. I am writing this in November of 2013 and I have only been with her once since the end of the semester. I have been with her one time in about six months. I have tried to contact her and to set up some day we can hang out, but we never seem to be able to make it work. After two months without seeing her I thought of her often. Now, after six months, I still do. I have bumped into her a couple of times but we never really had the time to talk. We never went to Paris, but the last time we talked she mentioned that we should go there. I don’t think she realizes how happy that made me. I thought that she had forgotten and I thought that she didn’t really want to, but now she told me that we should. I realize that the chances of this happening are slim, but just the thought that we might go some day is enough for me. The last time we talked she asked me how my writing was going; I told her that it was going rather good and that she would have to read it when I got home. She has no idea what it is about and I do not think that she expects this. I told her that she would get to read my “novel”, but as I am now reading through it I am seriously reconsidering that statement. I don’t think I have the guts to let her read it and I am also not that happy with what I have written to be honest. I think I could have done a better job, but seeing as this was written in one sitting I can’t be too disappointed. I set out to make as transparent a text as possible, and I was originally planning to just write one page but that was way too short. One problem I encountered several times while writing this text is that when I wanted to try to express my feelings in writing, every word seems to be so derivative and so tacky. Pop culture has done something with the emotional language that seems to be deeply rooted in the most of us, but I did my best to work my way around it and still write exactly what I wanted. I keep thinking of her and I can only hope that she thinks of me. I feel like I am standing outside of her window in the rain with a boom box over my head playing “Just the two of us” by Grover Washington Jr., exclaiming my love. That might actually have been a better approach, but sadly life is not some tacky movie, things would be a lot easier if it was.





I hope that you’re not angry or disappointed with what you have read. If you don’t know what to say then just tell me that you liked it.


I still miss you and I still think of you nearly every day. No matter what your current situation is I want you to know that I love you and I will never forget you as long as I live.



Just Over Her A New Night Escapes

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