I felt his hand grab my wrist and pull gently.  It was a normal thing for him to do.  He wanted me close.  He wanted me by his side.  I had gotten used to it by now, the warmth and strength of his hand as his fingers gently wrapped around my thick wrist, tugging me closer to him.  He liked touching me.  He liked feeling my skin against his.

It didn't just stop at the grabbing of my wrist, either.  He'd grab my arm and lock me in his arm, like girls sometimes do to other girls.  If he sat behind me, he would drape his arms over my shoulders and poke my cheeks.  He did that often, touching my face.  I had told him that I didn't like people touching my face, but there he would be, lightly tapping my chin, sliding a hand across my cheek, leaving light touches at my jaw line.  He would hold my hand or touch his hands to my waist, securing my position near him.  If I wasn't next to him, he would tug my clothes and take my hand in his, a smile tugging playfully at his lips.

He once whispered to me, "Don't stray.  Remember, you're mine."  I wasn't sure if he was joking or if he was serious.  I think, at the time, it was a mixture of both.

I remember smiling at him and saying something like, "Yeah, I won't stray again."

Looking back on it now, I should have realized what was going on.  He was flirting with me, and it was very obvious.  Perhaps I didn't want to admit that it was him flirting with me.  I think the others had noticed long before I ever did.  It didn't start off so obviously.

Or maybe it did, and I was just too stubborn to admit?

Whatever the case, I know now that it was.  I know very well that he was trying so hard for my attention and my love, and I ignored it.  I thought it all was a joke.  I thought it all was a simple game.

I know better now, but that doesn't fix anything.  It doesn't take back any of the words that I had thrown at him.  It doesn't alter what happened that night when he left.

Admitting everything won't bring him back.