On my way home

My stomach churns as I stand up from the cramped bus seat, ease my way out of the vehicle, head pounding. I'm not sure if it is due to nausea or hunger, but I hold my breath, hoping not to throw up. I glance down at the sinful pages I hold in my hands- An Ellen Hopkins novel, about teen prostitution. I really shouldn't have picked it up, or still be reading it for that matter. It might also be contributing to my weak stomach.

I notice my angel wasn't on the bus today as I glance at the people in front of me. Now, people would most likely look at me funny if they heard me call her my angel, but that is exactly what she is: an angel. Beautiful, selfless, not judging; smart enough to handle herself and yet vulnerable like the rest of them. Honest. And although a sinner, she is still an angel. Absolutely beautiful.

I never really thought about her in any other way but a good friend until she opened up to me. Until that night when she told me she was bisexual. I was bicurious, but never gave it much thought. But after that night, I thought of her. I thought of being able to make her smile, happy, loved. To protect her, to let her be her true self. It was unlike any other crush because I wasn't looking at appearence, or personal needs, or anything physical. I was looking at pure emotions. I was looking inside, the most beautiful place I've seen.

Hell, I even thought  about telling her how I felt. I promised myself to tell her before the summer was over. But, I was confused because I knew that I loved my ex boyfriends, and especially had feelings for one of them still. Could I love her if I still loved them? I was also scared as to what she would think, if it would work out. Or if it would break us apart. I lost a friend because of 'love' before, I would hate for it to happen again. Especially with her.

She found a boyfriend, I lost my chance. But she was so happy. I saw her blush, smile, saw the love for him in her eyes and just knew that if she was happy, everything is golden. I was happy for her. If she came to me with a problem because of it, I'd listen. Try to help her- let her know I'd do anything to help her. It was at those times I really wanted to tell her how I felt about her. But I never did.

Not even after they broke up. I lost hope on telling her, ended up going back to my first boyfriend. I still love her though, still have those thoughts about bringing a permenant smile to her face. I want those beautiful eyes to glow with happiness, hope. Love. And so, I will do that as a friend. It's all I can do.

I finish my thoughts, look ahead. I've gotten to my driveway. Oh look, my father's truck is in the driveway. Good news or bad news? The house underwent some progress, yes, but not nearly 'spotless'. He hasn't left yet. Will he? My stomach churns again, asthma acting up. I haven't seen him for a week. Him not being here then didn't affect me at all. But him coming back is making me wonder, will he leave? For good? Has he even really been here to begin with?