3.

I didn't plan my next decision, and never in my eighteen years of life did I think I'd have to turn to such extremes. But love makes people do crazy things, and in my case, it pushed me out of my comfort zone. All for just a little bit of attention.

"Babe I'm heading out for my first lecture! There's leftovers in the fridge," he had called out to me on this particular morning, slamming the door shut in his absence. He thought I was sleeping in since I didn't have a class until the afternoon, but I had been awake for hours. Tossing and turning. Checking and re-checking the time on my digital. Sometimes I wondered if he ever noticed; but then again, he never noticed all those other things. Like how I wanted to cuddle, but didn't want to have to ask for it. Or kiss him beyond a simple peck. Or feel something - anything. I loved him, of course I did. But moving in together exposed all the flaws in our relationship, and there were many. I never wanted perfection, just understanding. He didn't understand me anymore. Or maybe I was changing, and he couldn't keep up.

As I continue to stare up at the ceiling lost in thought, I imagine a life where Sam and I are more like the couples we always see in movies. Like the couples I read about in novels. The ones who are far more damaged than us, but far more in love with one another too. More invested in each other's lives. Often times they are presented as completely unable to stay away from each other - they keep coming back as if they're each other's addiction. I wondered if maybe I didn't play hard enough to get in our younger teenage years, and if I gave myself into Sam completely and wholly without putting up a little fight first. Was it my fault that things were like this? Sam and I thought we were completely fine - even after the sudden increase in arguments, and the distancing, he thought we were doing just as good as before - perhaps better. I didn't understand why he wasn't putting in an effort anymore. Why he wasn't making any advances. Why we didn't even have that conversation first at least.

So maybe it was my fault, I concluded. The excitement was there when we first got together. We kissed more at fifteen than we did now - our relationship was just beginning, and we had something to look forward to. I had to change for him, to show him that I could be enticing. That there was another side to me, a much sexier and desirable side. That I could be like those girls in the movies.

And so I did the last thing I ever pictured myself doing.

For him.

Once the professor had dismissed us from our afternoon lecture, I reluctantly made my way towards the college field. I can still remember the way my hands were shaking uncontrollably as I clutched my textbooks closer to my chest, in hopes of stopping the annoying movements. It was getting darker and darker each day, as we neared November. Thankfully it hadn't started raining, but the strange in-between weather made me feel even more uncomfortable about this. Like I was walking into a lion's den.

As I neared the pitch I noticed that there was no sight of the coach, either one of them. The college flag trembled in the wind on a make-shift post. It was eerily silent - and it made me feel anxious. What was I doing here?

I noticed a pile of Pom Poms, a bright red clutter gathered by the post, and decided to walk over and pick one up. As I dangled it in the air above my head, I let out a giggle. This is ridiculous.

Suddenly I hear footsteps walking behind me, and my breath hitches.

"What are you doing?" a deep voice asks, and I abruptly turn around to meet a face. A thick accent. British?

The most beautiful, delicate face, yet harsh all the same.

Green eyes.

The most piercing, green eyes that were glossed over, the kind that made you feel uncomfortable for staring too long, but you would do it anyway, because it's easier than looking away.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?" he asks again, and I'm pulled out of my thoughts instantly at the intimidating tone of his words, and look down at my feet before I speak.

"I uh... I'm sorry, I came here hoping I'd catch the coach and maybe... I don't know I was thinking..."

"That you would sign up for cheerleading? That's cute," he laughs, and I redden at his mocking.

"It's not really my thing but I just thought -"

"Yeah, I figured. Cheerleaders don't dress like that," he states as a matter-of-factly, and a sudden wave of courage washes over me. Who does he think he is?

"Oh yeah? And what do they dress like? I didn't realise there was a specific dress code we had to follow when we're not in practice."

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and his eyebrows raise a little, telling me that he didn't expect for me to talk back to him, let alone make a decent point.

"Go home, freshman," he finally breaks the silence, and I look into his eyes once again. His eyes rake my body, and a derisive smirk forms onto his lips. "You wouldn't suit the uniform anyway."

Before I could speak, he had turned on his heel and began walking towards one of the back entrances to the main building across the field - leaving me there, dumbfounded. How could someone be so arrogant? His gaze on me made me feel uncomfortable - his words made me feel unworthy. In such a short amount of time, this boy was able to make me feel such exaggerated heights of emotion, and the way in which he spoke to me had me disgusted and writhing with curiosity all the same.

That night, I laid beside Sam all whilst thinking about another for the first time. His lingering watch, my lingering watch. His rude remarks, my unexpected comeback. His ability to identify me as a first year purely based on how I presented myself, and my inability to not give into those captivating green eyes.

Like puzzle pieces.

And I didn't even catch a name.