"Freedom Love"

   My name is James Mendoza and I'm in a great relationship with my girlfriend, Ginette. She's not the best girl I could find, but I figured she'd do. That's how you do it, right? Anyways, in a week it is our one year anniversary. It's a gentle wonder and I often don't know how it has only been a year; I swear it feels like ten! Despite my teenage grey hairs, I'm fairly attractive. She, on the other hand, is not quite the same. She's alright, but she's not a queen, that's for sure. I'm in college and she's still trying high school, even though she's older than me. She skips out on almost all of her classes and spends most days high. It irritates me a bit, but what's the worst that it could bring?
     I'd love to say that I remember the first day that we met, but I really don't. I'm sure she's said it a thousand times, but chances are the tv was on and I wasn't paying attention. I don't know why, but she loves to bug me when I'm busy with more important stuff. Too often does she say "I love you," so I've taken a liking to replying with a small grunt. She doesn't seem to mind it too much, and occasionally slaps me playfully in response.
     We live together, but sleep in separate rooms. It irritates her, but I like it better this way so that she doesn't try to cuddle with me at night. I tend to keep my room locked, especially when I'm still awake. She doesn't seem to understand that school is much more important than her. It doesn't help that she thinks that I'm more important than her schooling. What sort of girl puts a guy first like that? Anyways, I'm totally happy in this relationship. It gives me everything I need except a mutual feeling of love, but who wants that anyways? I sure don't, not with her at least.
     I never lie to her, but for some reason she always believes me. I guess the fact that she's foolish isn't too new. She can hardly read a short story after all. I tend to have to explain myself a hundred times before she starts grasping what I mean, so I find myself avoiding conversation with her. If she greets me, I greet her back and disappear into my room.
     The world is different when I'm alone in my room. Suddenly I get the urge to write, but find nothing coming to mind. It has been like this for almost a year now and it drives me insane. It's almost as if Ginette has drained my creativity, but I can live with that; it's just my only passion in life, that's all. There are times when an idea flows into my mind, but runs out because Ginette happens to call out for me at that exact moment; there's no forgetting that she's there. I guess I could use a vacation from this life, but where would I go? I don't know anything else. Hell, I hardly know life.
    The colors of the world faded a while ago and I've gotten used to the colorless, joyless, world that I exist in. I was a novelist when the colors existed. I was even an artist! I painted pictures that had such vivid colors that even acid couldn't provide the same effect. But now, even those paintings seem dull and dead. I think all of my friends died or something.
     I haven't heard from any of my old friends since the beginning of this relationship. I stopped saying hi in the hallways because I don't really need them. Right? Isn't that the point of a relationship, to isolate yourself from the world just to make yourself lonely? I'm sure it is. That's probably why this relationship is going so well.
     Anyways, there's a reason I'm saying all of this. I'm thinking of giving one of my old stories to Ginette for our anniversary. It's something from the heart, a heart that I haven't heard beat in a while actually. I just have to read them over and figure out which one is best. I have a notebook with them scribbled down in it. I just found it too, so it's time to flip through it.
    I open the first page and see the title of my first story, "Love's Hero." I decide immediately that "Love's Hero" is not the right story and flip to the next one. "Freedom Love" is the next title and I go to flip past it, but something pulls me towards it. I wrote a lot of love stories back in the day, mostly about this one girl in my program. Oh god, she's so beautiful. I remember wanting her so much, but Ginette came along and it seemed like the easier path to take. Perhaps it was the shorter path too.
     I read through "Freedom Love" quickly, letting the words affect my emotions like they used to. I find myself in the mind of the main character, who had just realized that he was in love. He said it was crazy, and thought about throwing it away. Something stopped him. There was a crazier feeling that followed it and it's described as "freedom of the heart." But the two feelings are really the same, and I begin remembering how I felt when I wrote it.
     The story came straight from the heart, and I knew that whether or not she returns the feelings, love would still set him free. I remember dancing about my room, blasting love songs. This was before Ginette came along. Something changed inside of me that day. I felt so free; I felt like I was flying. I'm starting to think that I was in love back then. That's what I called it, after all, and I was much happier than I am now. Love makes you happy, right?
     I feel something churning inside of me, like a hurricane ocean. It's in my stomach like butterflies, in my heart like a beast, and in my mind like the confused man that I am. If I was in love then, what am I in now? What is keeping me bound to this girl? The beast inside of my heart wakes up and seems to reveal itself as something else, a gentle creature, a gentle feeling.
     I jump over to my desk as the colors slowly return to the world around me. I open my laptop and take a look into the "pictures" folder. I see the locked folder named "GIL" and open it immediately, putting the beautiful girl's name as the password. It works and the folder opens, revealing all of the sweet pictures that she sent me back in the day. In each one she's more beautiful and slowly the lively green in the pictures begins to come to life. A realization begins to wash over me as well, but I fear the truth and push it away.
     The realization beats me into submission with its persistence. I am in love, but not with Ginette. I've been blind for so long. How did I never notice the truth? I can't keep living like this! I have to tell the truth; I can't keep living a lie! I don't care what consequences will follow; I have to save myself from this endless pit of lies that I have fallen into! Maybe it's not too late for James Mendoza.

-Zero