I Never Knew I Loved You

• Kristen Febey, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2011

He had sat by her for days, for weeks, for months. He had sat by her all year; she’d never missed a day. Now she was gone. And he knew she wouldn’t be back. Killed herself, so young… the words echoed repeatedly in his head.

He slumped against his desk and stared at hers. For just one second, he closed his eyes and pretended she was there, sitting right next to him again, smiling, and chattering at him, laughing when he didn’t.

“Why are you always so cold? Why don’t you talk to me? Its not like I’m diseased or something!” she had once said, laughing nervously when rolled his eyes. He wondered now what would have happened if he’d laugh too, if he smiled and said “Sorry.”

He had sneaked a peek from his peripheral vision, she’d looked like a kicked puppy, staring at the floor, but he had just turned away, trying to ignore the voice in his head. She’s beautiful, and she likes you. Give her a chance… He ignored it.

When he rode the bus home, he saw the empty seat in front of his and bit back a sob. Just yesterday she’d sat there smiling back at him. But he hadn’t smiled back, just gazed sulkily out the window, pushing her away.

He got off the bus, and remembered her tentative smile the day before. The last time he saw her, rain flattening her mahogany curls. She had looked so sad, and he hadn’t cared. Killed herself, so young, no friends

As he trudged home her voice echoed so faint, from the day before, “Bye.” He had thought he’d imagined that she’d said “Goodbye forever.” He’d just shrugged and waved half heartedly, and he could see the pain of rejection in her eyes. Killed herself…

He remembered the voice crackling over the P.A., “Students, I have some terrible news,” the voice stumbled over her name, “has… is dead. There will be a service this afternoon. That is all.” The voice cut off, and he heard the murmurs and whispers, “Killed herself…”

When he got home, he flopped on his bed. “Why do I even care?” He asked out loud, startled by the sound of his voice. Because you loved her, the voice in his head whispered, he shook his head. “No.” But he knew he was lying. ‘Killed herself, so young…’

He remembered every day, every conversation. Every time he stared at her lips, or listened to her soft voice. And every time he had pretended she didn’t exist. Oh God, He thought, it was his fault. He’d seen her sadness, her loneliness; like his. She’d tried to get close, to feel wanted, and he hadn’t allowed her that; hadn’t saved her.

He wondered if he wanted to remember her as the sad girl he had denied love, he wondered if he wanted to remember her at all. Every time he smiled, he was reminded of her. Any time he felt sad or disappointed, she was there. She was with him every aching second, reminding him of his guilt. Killed herself, so young, no friends...

Every morning he would stare in the mirror until she would appear. The rain flattening her mahogany curls, the trace of a sad smile played around her soft lips. He imagined her talking with him, laughing again. He would listen and wish their conversations were real.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He apologised every day, feeling as though his heart would break. “I never knew I loved you, I did love you, and I loved you so much! But then I loved you too late…”


The next day new whispers haunted the corridors; there was another spare desk and another empty seat on the bus. “He killed himself, loved the girl that died…”