Not really

Descargo de responsabilidad: el siguiente escrito corresponde a una tarea de mi clase de inglés.

That day I dressed up as usual, wishing that I could hide my nervousness that way. I did not want him to believe that I had thought a lot about what to wear. I wanted him to see me as natural as he saw me for the first time, just the way he fell in love with me.

That afternoon I met him at the park. He was waiting for me sitting on that bench, immersed in a book, just as I remembered him. I know it is difficult to believe, but before I started to have a crush on him, I kind of abhorred him. He was very odd. I know he has been always shy, but he used to quiver when rarely someone talked to him, even if that person was me. He refused to hang with the group, which was the reason why he did not have any friends. He was always like shut up in his own little world.

I began to be his friend one cold morning. I remember I was outside the classroom and so was he, but I would not have seen him if I had not heard his whimpers. “Hello. Are you OK?” I said timidly and prepared for him to suddenly attack me or something, because he seemed very disturbed. “Not really” he sobbed. Since that day, he began to tell me all his problems, his deepest secrets and I did it as well. I realized he had a beautiful soul and that he was pretty intelligent. So we slowly fell in love.

The days passed by and our relationship end up, not in very well terms I must say. The truth is that by those days I had found someone else, so I left him. Since that day I have not seen him until now.

I sat on the bench, next to him. “So, how are you?” I asked giggling but feeling quite guilty because of the way I treated him back when we broke up. He did not answer, he just shrug with a very little smile on his face. “Have you been well?” I asked. “Not really” he answered. He looked right into my eyes and then he pulled me to his chest to hug me. I closed my eyes. Nobody I had met was like him. I realized I was still in love with him.

Suddenly, he kind of hit me. I felt a hot blow that forced me to leap back because of the pain, leaning forward on the seat. Instinctively I touched my lower back. I was bleeding. I glanced to his hands and there it was, he was holding a knife. He had hidden it in the book, that is why I had not seen it when I arrived. I looked at him horrified. “Why? Why?” I shrieked while I was falling. He grabbed me tightly and whispered in my ear: “Because I want you to feel the same as me. This is what a backstab really feels.” And thrusting me again, I eased forward to my death.