Day 15: Write a scene taking place in an (almost) empty room.

I hated this. I always did. This part was always so hard, but I always forced myself to do it--to memorize every detail and every crack in the wall to chipped splotch of paint. It was pretty depressing to just stand here, wallowing in the emptiness of it all. I had only been here a mere three months, and we were already leaving. My parents got bored, and since they happened to thrive on spontaneity, we were moving...again.

As rooms went, this one had always treated me pretty well. It had been the location of a few make out sessions, and just a place to breathe. It wasn't the biggest one I had encountered, but it wasn't that small, either. Now, though, it was practically empty, except for the remnants of posters that were taped up on the wall, only the corners and adhesive remaining. My bed was also there, but that was really it. The room was almost empty, though the memories would remain.

Whenever I came to this point, my heart always ached. I would be leaving behind people and places and things for good, and would never be coming back. It was always the same routine. One day one of my parents would come home, and then announce that they were bored. Days later we would move across the country, or even world. We had spent a lot of time in Europe when I was younger, and lived in Canada for about a month, but it was always harder due to visas and all that crap. I preferred to stay in the US, even if in a different state.

So far, in all my seventeen years of existence, I had lived in thirty-seven different states--including Hawaii and Alaska. Thinking back on it now, my time in the tropics of Hawaii were actually some of the best months I had ever endured. Alaska I wasn't really a big fan of, due to the extreme levels of coldness, and my parents knew that, so we only stayed for a month and a half or so. That was when I was about ten. Now, though, it was seven years later and I was in the gloriously boring state of Connecticut, moving once again.

When I was about seven we had lived in Connecticutt for around five or so months. My parents had liked the state, but they didn't love it. I wasn't really sure why they had decided to move back, but it was on the complete other side of the state, not even remotely near where we had lived almost tens ago. It had been a long three months. I had to tranfer schools (again), and make new friends that I knew I would have to leave (again), and completely uproot my life (again). For some reason, though, I didn't mind. This was how I lived. We were practically nomadic, and I was okay with that.

"Uh, hey," someone uneasily said from the doorway. I knew exactly who it was, and let out a sigh, pausing my mental closure as I turned around. This always happened.

"What's up, Zev?" I tried to casually ask, sending him a small smile.

"You're leaving," he stated.

I laughed. "Yeah, I tend to do that."

"I don't want you to go," he gulped. That was always a nice one-liner to hear. Most guys went with the cliche, "I'll miss you so much."

"Well, it's not either of our decisions, is it?" I said with a shrug.

"I love you," he suddenly blurted out. And there it was. The phrase that just about half of them said whenever they knew for sure I was going. It was easy to tell someone who was moving to the other side of the country that you loved them, for the chances were pretty low that you would ever see them again. What was hard, though, was telling someone the same thing who lead a completely stationary life and you would see day after day.

"No, you don't," I sighed, having the same conversation that I had had with so many other boys in the past. It always went this way. "You're in love with the thought of me, Zev: the new girl who has an adventurous lifestyle and is a bit on the crazier side. You don't love me."

"Yes, I do," he falsely persisted. "We can still make this work!"

"I'm moving to Arizona, Zev," I told him, walking over to my bed and sitting down. He just stood there, staring at me in the doorway of what would soon become my old room.

"So?" he scoffed. "We can do long distance! We can make it work! I can visit you, or maybe you'll move back to New England soon!"

"I won't," I shook my head. "I have a hunch that once my parents get tired of Arizona--which they always do, they hate the scenery--we're going to somewhere in the South. It's not going to work out, Zev. I'm sorry."

"We can try, though, can't we?" he pled. I felt bad for him. I really did. Out of all the guys I had encountered over the years, he was probably among the nicest. He was a really good guy, and he didn't deserve to fall for me. No one did.

"No," I said the single word of ultimate rejection. "I'm sorry, Zev, but in my experience, long distance never works out. You should be with someone who loves you and who won't break your heart or leave. I'm sorry."

"But...I--I love you, Eden," he proclaimed, his voice jagged at the end.

"I'm sorry, Zev. I really wish that I could stay longer," lie, "but I have to go." I hated this state. I really did. The people were average and it was just a nice cliche place with snow every once in a while. I didn't really like snow. Like, at all. I dealt better with warmer climates, but I wasn't a fan of hot weather, either. I liked California--in the fall and spring. That weather was perfect, and everything else just couldn't compare.

Zev didn't say a word; he just trudged over to where I was sitting on the bed, and then looked at me hesistantly, before making up his mind. He put two gentle hands on either side of my face, and then quickly pressed his lips up to mine before I had a chance to decline. I didn't mind, though. I was used to this reaction by now. Some guys were cool with me leaving, and understood that were just a fling, while others (like Zev) couldn't seem to let me go. Zev wasn't different than any of the others, and as I kissed him, my mind became muddled with the memories of all the other goodbye kisses I had accumulated over the years.

Like with most guys, Zev and I met on my first day of school. I was friendless once again, and he was nice. We were in the same English class, and when it was over, he offerred to give me an overview of what they had done so far in the year. I accepted, and we met up at his house after school. He told me that they were reading The Great Gatsby, and I let out a groan, not interested in having to read the book a fifth time. It was a miracle that my parents hadn't decided to just homeschool me. Alas, they liked working, and felt that I would learn more in the government's fine hands of education. Anyways, that was when I first met Zev.

About two weeks later I decided to speed things up because I was heartless, absolutely sucked, figured that we would be staying longer than three months, and thought Zev was cute. I kissed when we were chilling at my (temporary) house, and he reacted as expected: he kissed me back. About a day later he asked me to be his girlfriend, and I tried to explain to him that I would probably leave town before prom and that my life wasn't exactly as regular as his. He claimed to not care, and I just went with it, accepting. And here we were now. Almost three months later, parting ways.

"I love you so much, Eden," Zev finally said when he pulled back from the osculation.

"No, you really don't," I told him. He needed to realize that before he did something crazy like try to stop me at the airport before my flight. Only about two or three boys had gone to the extent of doing something so absurd, but something told me that Zev wasn't the type.

"I really do," he uttered with sincerity, staring into my eyes deeply.

"Zev, do you know how may guys have told me that they loved me?" He gulped, not saying a word, so I kept speaking. "Twenty-three. Twenty-three guys have said the same exact thing as you, and you know what? They--and you--were all wrong. You don't love me. You may like me, but love isn't just a random emotion you claim to feel. With us, it just isn't real." As I said the last part, I tried to hold back a grin as I realized that the two sentences kind of rhymed. Ha. Feel and real. Rhymes were so cool.

"Eden, this is love," he tried to tell me. "I can feel it, and I know that you can feel too!"

"I'm sorry, Zev, but I don't love you," I said as kindly as I could. This was always one of the hardest parts. I felt like shit afterwards.

"Yes--yes, you do," he attempted to convince himself.

"I don't. And you don't love me, either."

"Eden, I've never felt like this about anybody else before." That was always a cute phrase to hear. Not very original, but it always made me smile a bit inside.

"Zev, I think you should go," I finally managed to say. I couldn't see him like this, and after today, I would never see him again. "I'm leaving tomorrow, Zev, and all I can say is that I've enjoyed the time I've spent here. You were so nice to me, and I'm sorry that I have to leave."

"Can I at least have your number?" he practically begged.

"No," I shook my head, as it was my policy. I didn't give out my number to anyone, because that would mean attachment, and attachment was something that I didn't do. It was the same reason that I didn't have a Facebook or use social media as much as a girl my age should have. I was like an untracable apparition. I would come in, wreck some hearts, and then leave. Just like that. It was how my life opperated, and I didn't know anything other than it.

"I love you, Eden," he said yet again, as if it would suddenly change anything.

"No," I said once more, "you don't." Before he could object, I stood from the bed, silently urging him to do the same, and when he got up, and I quickly pecked his cheek, hating myself for the memory that I would be leaving him with. Eden: the girl who broke Zev's heart. That's how I would be remembered in this town, but I didn't really care. I never cared. It was probably a larger character flaw than I was making it out to be, but I had never really thought about it much. I just moved on as if nothing had happened. Some places made bigger impacts on my life than others, while places like Connecticut were just added to the growing list of places in which I had briefly lived.

"I love you," Zev whispered as I guided him over to the door.

"You don't," I said with a sigh. "Bye, Zev.

"Bye, Eden," he muttered, gazing into my eyes one final time, and then reluctantly leaving me alone once again. I heard the front door slam, and then moment later the hum of his car, and then I knew that this was really over. I was leaving, and that was it. As I just stood in the middle of the nearly-empty bedroom, I felt sense of void that I always felt. It was the emptiness inside that came along with my life.