From the Hidden Cupboard

What About Love

A/N contains mature subject matter, reader discretion is advised...

My name is Christopher and this is my story. People are going to hate it and people are going to love it, but it doesn't change the simple fact that this is my story. It could have turned out differently, but it didn't. It just was what it was.

So try not to judge me. Try not to condemn the players. Look past the words and see what a beautiful and terrible time it was. Consider what I am telling you, and if you have room for it in your heart then that is great. If you do not, then walk away no less than what you were.

I don't know what it is like for other people, but I knew what love was long before they tell you that you should. Whenever I would try to explain that I felt it, I was always told 'you are too young' or 'you don't know what you are talking about.' But I did. I knew exactly what I was talking about.

It was that feeling like you want to scream or cry at the thought of being apart. It was not wanting to disappoint them, ever. It was the utter despair at the thought of hurting them or making them cry. It was wanting to be with them, no matter what.

The first time I felt that way about someone was in grade school. I know what you are thinking. You were too young to fall in love. I can't even remember the number of times I heard that from other people. As if you could look into my soul and really know that what I felt wasn't love.

Even worse, it was for a teacher. Though why exactly loving someone could be worse or better is beyond me even now. I remember the first time I saw him at the school. He was young and fresh off of summer holidays. His face was tanned and his smile bright.

He welcomed the students in the class back and let them all sit next to their friends with a warning that disruptions would mean they would be moved. Then he introduced himself. His name was Andrew Birchwood. He had been teaching as a substitute for three years before being hired at our school.

I felt sorry for him, having to be a substitute for other classes. I know what we were like when our teachers left and it wasn't well behaved. I admired him for not quitting teaching entirely and becoming something easier instead.

Then he had us go around and introduce ourselves to him. He wanted to know our favourite colour, favourite food, and the last thing we had watched on tv. I thought about it the whole time the other students were telling him theirs until he got to me.

"My name is Christopher. My favourite colour is yellow like my mom painted our kitchen. My favourite food is spaghetti because I like to twirl the noodles. The last thing I watched on tv was Voltron with my older sister, but I don't like watching with her. She yells at the tv too much." I grinned as the class laughed.

Mr. B chuckled and thanked me with a nice smile before going on to the next student. I really wanted to make him laugh again. It was a nice sound. His voice was great too. I tried to pay attention in class with him because I wanted him to feel like he was doing a good job.

When you are young, time doesn't feel like a real thing. It passes without your notice until you are in a situation where you want it to fly. Then it goes slowly as you watch the hands of the clock tick by or wait for the digital number to switch.

*

"What are you doing?" The girl Alison who sat next to me on the left leaned over to see what I was writing. We were making cards out of construction paper and I had made a very nice blue one with a heart on it.

"I'm making a card, like he told us to." I replied, feeling a little weirded out that she was staring at my work so intently.

"What kind of card is that? I made a Christmas card for my parents. I don't know what kind of card that is. It looks stupid." She was frowning at me and I furrowed my brow, but didn't look over or say anything back. "Hey Charlie, did you see Christopher's card? It is so stupid. He didn't even do it for a holiday!"