One hundred days.
By his estimation, it has been about three months since he realised what he feels for her will get him into trouble. Somewhere along the years, the lines had been blurred and whatever this was, had started out so pure, it would make the eyes of the adults around them twinkle as they gushed about the apparent cuteness of it.
He often wondered if it would get the same reaction now, though he knew how unlikely that was. Something that had wrecked him like this couldn’t possibly garner any positive attention. Oh, he was a mess and he knew who to blame for it, but couldn’t bring himself to hate her.
That last part was a lie. He did hate her sometimes-a small part of him-but he strongly believed that that must be the case with anyone who had ever felt so strongly, so deeply for another human. It was the only thing that could make you feel like you were in the middle of a volcano and an iceberg at the same time. A childish analogy, yes but it was true. Why her? He hated the helplessness that came along with it.
But it had never gotten this bad. Not once in the fifteen years he’d known her, had he ever wanted anything more than to hold her hand, to feel her fingers in his hair while he rested his head on her lap. The innocent fantasies he had allowed himself to indulge in. It never went further than that. Now, all he could think about was how it would feel to turn his head and bury his head in the apex between her thighs. How much fun it would be to use the very same skipping rope she’d been so fond of as a child, to tie her up against his favourite tree and spend hours exploring her.
He wondered if she might like that too.