The low rumble of the car’s wheels echoed in my ears, humming throughout my mind, though it didn’t drown out the screaming of my thoughts. I was sick of the screaming, sick of everything.

     Sick of you.

     I’m sick of the way you pick at your plump lips, the pinkness of them teasing me as I glance at you from the corner of my eye. I’m sick of the way you smile at me every time you catch me looking, so innocent and cute. I’m sick of the way you turn your head and stare out the window, as if you were in some kind of sappy music video, hoping for your man to chase you down.

     What I’m mostly sick of, though, is the fact that you don’t even realise he’s using you.

     You have low self esteem, zero confidence in yourself, and you’re a hopeless romantic. He preys on that, he told you want you wanted to be told, fed off of your blushes and giggles. He tells you your hair is as soft as silk, tells you that your smile is worth more than diamonds, tells you that you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen.

     Then he takes you on dates – or as I like to call them, maybe-dates. He takes you shopping, buys you whatever you want; but then, at the end of the day, you ask the question that makes your heart pound against your ribcage, the question that niggles at the back of your mind until he answers, you ask him where you two stand. And each and every time, he answers the same thing, the answer that makes your pounding heart stop and sink, the answer that makes all thought cease because you thought maybe, just maybe, it'd be a different answer this time.

     But it’s always the same answer.

     “I just don’t think I’m ready for a relationship yet.”

     Every time, you accept the answer, nod your head, and call me. I always pick up, I mean, how could I not? I rush to my car, I jam my seatbelt into its holder, and I slam my foot to the accelerator, hoping to reach you in time.

     I always do, I always come to you with a weak smile and slanted brows, hoping one day you’ll notice just how much I care. But all you do is throw your arms around me, bury your face into my neck, and sob. I hate him for it, I absolutely hate him for how much pain he’s caused you, yet all you do is weakly assure me that you’ll be fine and you two will sort things out.

     But I wish you wouldn’t.

     I turn my head, knowing you’re watching me. Our eyes meet, and I wish I could turn the radio on, just to drown out the silence and screaming of my mind.

     “Do you think it will ever work out?”

     I turn my head back, keeping my eyes on the road. Now that you’ve asked that question, the road back to your house seems so long, so distant.

     “What do you mean?”

     I know exactly what you mean, but a part of me is still hanging onto the small hope that you’ll answer something differently, that you’ll tell me that it’s me you want, that you’ve finally realise he doesn’t deserve you, and that I’m the best person for you.

     I could make you happy, you know. He doesn’t even know your favourite colour, movie, song, or outfit. But I know so much more than that, I know everything about you. I know you like to just strum the strings of your guitar without even thinking, because thinking makes you forget the chords. I know you only dye your hair because you know I prefer certain colours, especially when I’m allowed to style it as well. I know your biggest wish is to be confessed to in the rain, to be held close, to have someone their fingers into their hair as the kiss you senseless as they tell you they love you.

     And believe me, even though there’s not any rain pouring at the moment, I could give you that. I could give you anything and everything you want, if only you’d let me.

     “I mean, do you think one day I’ll ever get over him?”

     It shocked me, to say the least.

     “I don’t know.”

     You turned to me fully, your glamorous face gracing me with its presence. Your bottom lip was captured between your teeth as you drummed your fingers nervously against your jean clad knee, a nervous habit of yours I had noticed years ago.

     “I just,” You sighed, releasing your lip. You raked your hands through your hair, and I watched every thought wash over your face. “I just want to be happy.”

     “Does he make you happy?”

     “I . . . Don’t know.”

     We were near your home, around the corner, actually. But I didn’t want the car to stop; I needed this ride to be longer, needed to figure you out completely.

     “How do you know if they make you happy?”

     I laughed – a shallow, hollow laugh. The irony closed in on me, swallowing me whole until I looked at you. You were surrounded by question marks, or at least, it seemed that way.

     “Their mere presence makes you feel like you want to fly, their smile brightens your day, their hugs make you want to break down and cry, but grin at the same time, and when they tell you they love you, you feel like your heart is growing too big for your chest.”

     You were quiet, the thinking kind of quiet, the kind of quiet that makes a cold sweat form on my brow. So, it wasn’t the greatest way to tell you how I feel, but it was the simplest way to do it without letting you know. It actually felt kind of nice to get off my chest, though it would be a lot nicer if you felt the same way too.

     “You seem to know the feeling,” An exhale close to a laugh left you, flicking your fringe from your face. “Do I know the person that makes you this happy?”

     I nodded, beginning to panic as I pulled up into your driveway.

     “Who is it?”

     “I can’t tell you that.”

     “Why not?”

     “Because,” I sighed, taking my hands away from the steering wheel as I face you. “I haven’t told the person yet, I don’t think it’s fair.”

     You bounced in your seat, undoing the belt with a giddy smile on your face.

     “When are you going to tell them?”

     “Uh,” I hesitated, not knowing when I’ll tell you . . . If I’ll ever tell you. “I’ll tell them when I know for certain that they’re happy.”

     The light from your porch , your mother standing in its wake, beckoning you to come inside. But the only thought I had in my mind was that I didn’t want you to go, not right now, not ever. You noticed the light too, turning you head before giving me an apologetic smile.

     You looked down, drumming your fingers once again.

     “You know, you’re really considerate of other people.” You raised your head, locking eyes with me. “And you’re sweet, and honest, and beautiful.”

     You inched away, beginning to open the door. You can’t leave, please don’t, not yet.

     “You make me happy.”

     I tried hiding my smile, but I think it still twitched in the corner of my lips, in the sparkle of my eyes. You laughed softly, shaking your head before you continued.

     “Too bad you’re not a guy, huh?”

     I laughed too, though the joke flew right over my head. We don’t need to be like that, I know I can make you even happier if you allowed me to try.

     Instead, I played along with the joke.

     “Yeah, too bad, otherwise we’d be perfect for each other.”

     “Exactly,” You smiled, pinching my cheek. “Ah well, maybe next time, eh?”

     “Yeah, next time.”

     Then you were out of my car, your figure fading as you walked inside your home. I drove away, not far though, only to somewhere out of your eyeshot.

     But I couldn’t hold it forever.

     The tears spilled, flowing down my cheeks, down my chin, falling onto my lap. I couldn’t take this anymore, I just couldn’t. I’m so sick of this, so sick of you not understanding. I could make you happy, I really could, I could give you everything you wished for and more if it would make you smile just once.

     You told me I make you happy, you only just said it. So then why, why of all people, you choose to taunt me? You’re everything I could ever want, and I know that if you let me try, I could be like that for you too.

     I wipe at my cheeks with the back of my palm, knowing its best not to use the handkerchief you gave me last time I cried. It was just another reminder that you’re not mine, another reminder that while you may love me, it’s purely platonic.

     Your scent still lingers in the car, the faint aroma of honey and vanilla surrounding me. If only it were like that all the time, if only I could fall asleep next to you, if only I could wake up with you by my side.

     If only, if only, if only.

     But that’s all we’ll ever be, isn’t it? Just an assortment of if’s inside my mind, a blunder of thought out daydreams where I can hold you in my arms and never let go, a swirling tornado of mixed emotions I never wished to have, but alas, this is all I am ever left with.

     But I’m not the one you want, and I need to come to terms with that.

     Its just so hard to though, so hard to pretend that I’m not madly in love with my best friend, so hard to pretend that everything is peachy keen when all I want to do is get horrifically drunk and forget all about you, your perfect existence, and my insatiable longing for you.

     . . . It’s just so hard to pretend I don’t love you, Amber.

A/N: So, this was really loosely based off of the song 'Please Don't' by K.Will, and if you haven't already heard it or watched the music video, I highly suggest it.