At home, in my room, I cannot tear my mind away from him. The Tulip Boy. I need to see him again, I need to find him. He's my obsession, my addiction, and this detoxification can't go on. Without this boy, I am nothing. I need him.
I pull out my yearbook, just to try in vain to find his face in the rows and rows of faces. If he goes to my school, I have never seen him, and I don't know if I could ever miss him. Without any expectations, I begin a search for him, and when I am expecting it least, I find that face. That unmistakable pixie face.
In his school picture he wears a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and even through the black and white I can see the pain in those piercing green eyes. I can see the the colour even through the gray. I stroke his picture, I kiss the page where his face is printed. I whisper to him, although he can't hear me, "I love you, I love you."
Taylor MacIllen. I ignore the name underneath the picture, because he'll always be The Tulip Boy to me.
When I arrive at school, early the next morning, and I sit down at my locker, I realize.
He's a boy, The Tulip Boy. He's a boy, the same as me. I love him, I'm addicted to him. When I even just think about him, a feeling of deep, bottomless need rises in my stomach and churns my insides. But along with this, there is a tiny confusion. Is this okay? All the other boys my age like girls. Why do I like a boy this way? Am I different in this way, too?
Perhaps I should be scared, but there is no fear in me. Even if I were scared, even if I couldn't live with myself for wanting a boy like I want him, there would be nothing for me to do. I know myself, and once I'm hooked, I'm gone.
There's no turning back from The Tulip Boy now. He's in me like a piece of my own heart, and no way can he get out.
He's here. He's right in front of me, suddenly. Walking fast, his backpack on his shoulder. He wears a nervous expression I didn't see in the mall, one quaking with uncertainty. I follow him through the halls, navigating like a ship through a stormy sea. I stay a fair distance away, I admire him.
How bright his hair shines, I think. How smooth his skin looks, and how soft are his lips. I want to reach out and touch him, but I'm frightened to, because maybe he'll disappear. Maybe he's nothing, really, just a fragile image and illusion, a product of my damaged and dysfunctional brain. Maybe he isn't real. Maybe I'm in love with a dream.
He darts away down the hall, and I quickly loose sight of him. He leaves me stranded in the ocean of bodies, stunned. I can feel my blood pounding through my veins with renewed vigor. Like a drug, he sped me up; my thoughts are running at top-speed. I try to decide in a split second what to do.
In my mind, my dream, I push everyone aside. I adopt a suit of shining armor, I take up a sword, and I go to my pixie boy. I kneel at his feet, humble myself to his majesty, and I tell him everything. I give him gifts, words that describe how I feel. In my dream, these words exist, though they cannot possibly in real life.
In real life, I turn. I walk away from where he is. I don't know what I could tell him. I don't even know if any of this is real.
He walks fast. I trot to keep up, though I'm quite a distance from him. I keep my eyes on the back of his head, on his flowing, silky hair. Against the background of the gray sky, he is a pretty sight, a raven haired angel so pale he seems to be made of porcelain. Most of him is white and black, except for the pale green of his eyes, and the pink of his lips. Tulip pink, tulip pink for my Tulip Boy.
He lives in a neighbourhood near my own, where the houses are small and modest with yards full of children's toys. I stay safely down the street as I watch The Tulip Boy disappear inside one such house. When he is gone, I walk past his home. It is a pretty little house, cream coloured, with vines creeping their tendrils up a part of the wall. There is a treehouse in one of the trees near the back, and I can imagine my Tulip Boy as a little kid, playing in the treehouse, without a care in the world, before those green eyes grew burdened and frightened of the world.
I make a promise to return. My fascination demands it.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate it, especially Shivas Avatar's. I hope you like this.