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I never knew the potential of what he could be to me the first time I met him. It wasn’t fairytale love. He wasn’t “the one” as soon as I saw him. I didn’t want him when I saw him. I never would’ve even entertained the idea. The idea of an “us” was foreign. I think that’s why… everything had to happen the way it did.
It started with meaningless flirting. All I ever responded with was, “shut up.” I couldn’t entertain that idea, I don’t know how he could either. There was something innate about both of us keeping us apart, a deep knowing we shared that things could “never be” until I didn’t. Only me.
He felt the pull before I did. The “connection.” He sensed I had it in me before I even showed him the depths of what it was. The flirting was “half joking, half intentional.” The idea was so absurd I thought it was a big joke. It wasn’t supposed to be half of what it was.
Stares lead to tension. Thigh touches and hidden looks. Jokes only we knew the meaning of. All of it in public, never admitted. The secret we shared was exhilarating. One day I sucked his dick and then we fucked. He almost came that day. He said it was because he hadn’t had sex in six months, but I think our bodies knew already. I could do things for him, make him feel things he’d never felt before, and I didn’t even have to try. In a way, I was perfect for him. But we could never be. The idea of these things without a future felt pointless the more I felt myself fall. I never knew why he chose me, why I was the one he handpicked for this. But I can’t deny the fact that a connection existed. That’s why I fell.
Every talk about “us” was circular. I wanted to stop trying. If I threw a fit, he spam called me. If I walked away, he tried to talk to me. We agreed to be friends. I’d end up with his dick in my mouth the next day. I would tell him not to touch me. He wouldn’t stop.
One night his ex no caller ID’d him. She called several times, and he picked up every one. There were deeper things at play, and I knew that. But I couldn’t stomach it.
We went away to the car. He asked me what was wrong, if I was jealous. If I was “catching feelings.” It wasn’t even that. I told him the truth. I wanted something dark. Something all consuming, with the power to annihilate me. I wanted to be destroyed so I could be reborn. And I knew he could give that to me. I told him things I’ve never told another person. He reciprocated. He told me his love was loyalty, “kill someone and I’ll bury the body with you,” type of love. Now I knew he could give it to me, I wanted it from him. But thirty minutes in, I knew he wouldn’t. Not in the way I needed. I wanted to end it then.
He drove me home. I ended it as soon as I got there. I didn’t want anything anymore. I hate wanting what I can’t have. Then I was a failure, pathetic, legitimately ill. A waste of space, a sick bitch.
We made up. We did every time. Then we had more conversations. It was the same every time.
We’re friends, but not friends because we have sex. The sex is deeper because we know fucked up things about each other. But I don’t have feelings for you. The deep things don’t define us, though, we don’t really know each other. Small talk really matters, I want to get to know you. No one can predict or control feelings. Ride the wave. But I probably won’t ever love you.
He said he wasn’t ready or looking for anything until he “wins.” I told him, even if you were looking I still wouldn’t be an option. He said “you don’t know that. Yes, I innately don’t prefer a girl like you but you don’t know how things would be if I was looking.” He wants a woman who would do anything to help him win. If I helped him get a job through my parents, he would “wife me.” But I didn’t have any of that value either. I told him insomuch.
He asked me out on a date one day. Just me and him. He “wanted to get to know me.” I said yes, but then I hesitated. This is why he doesn’t fall for useless witches like me. The drama was fake, my care for him was fake. He didn’t want to talk to me, he couldn’t stand me. I lost my mind that night. I couldn’t breathe if he was ignoring me. If he was upset with me, I felt so nauseous I wanted to die.
I saw him again a day or two later. We got drunk, fucked again, spent the whole afternoon together. But eventually I had to go, I couldn’t stay for the plans we made for the night. He was upset. He couldn’t even stand speaking to me. We just had sex, what do you mean you don’t want to even speak to me? I grabbed my stuff and walked out. As I was pulling out of the driveway he asked me, “is this just sex to you? Because I’m not the right guy for that if it is.” I didn’t answer. He got into my car, he started touching me. I said stop, and he said “really? I know you like it.” He raped my throat for the first time. I just wanted the destruction, not the feelings.
That Sunday, we met our friend’s parents. The night before, I had tried to end things. He touched me under the table. I let him. I wanted to go home. I only had 30 mins anyway, what was the point? He wouldn’t stop touching me. I pulled away every time, he wouldn’t stop trying to touch me. I blew up. I yelled at him to stop. He said he didn’t even know what he did. He grabbed my arm, I yanked it away. My bracelet scratched his knuckle. He was bleeding. He asked me if I even cared that I hurt him, I just stared away. He called me a useless whore, said I was making a scene. I needed to “shut the fuck up” and come into the cafe. I wasn’t making a scene, I never intended on going inside. I dropped them off at his car. He stayed in mine to talk. I was really toxic. I switched up all the time. I was jumping the gun by ending it. I was letting go of “something beautiful.”
I wanted him over one night. We had argued earlier. When he touched me, I liked it, but I said I didn’t. He kissed me and I didn’t move my lips but I liked it. He asked me questions, I said no, he slapped me so hard my ears rang. I still liked it. But eventually I tapped out. I wanted to feel him but also not want him at all at the same time. I wanted to feel him when I didn’t want him. I started sucking his dick and I still liked it a little but then suddenly I didn’t. I didn’t want it anymore but I couldn’t stop it. Then he flipped me and started fucking me. I started sobbing. I wasn’t in my body anymore. He said he was close, pulled out and came on my back. He said I was crazy for what I did, he asked me “what that was.” He asked me what was wrong as he got in the shower. I couldn’t even tell him.
I washed my face, came down, felt nothing. I think a part of me died.
We went out to a café with our friend. I was numb, silent, laughing when something finally hit. Then he started touching my hand and knee, I pulled away. But then I felt a little mad, like crazy, it was like a little game. I felt psychotic, a little playful. I felt alive in a way that terrified me. Broken open. That’s what I wanted. I loved it, I wanted it again. Suddenly, I wanted to touch him, I wanted to give in to the game. He pulled away and said I was acting weird, he wasn’t going to do this. Later, his ex no caller ID’d him again. He picked up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked out of the cafe and to the side of the complex and I curled up on the stairs and started sobbing. I don’t know how I felt. I was just sobbing on and off. I couldn’t even breathe. I felt empty.
He found me. He said we should just be “bros.” He said I deserved something healthy before this. He said continuing this was going to break me. How did he not know that’s exactly what I wanted? I told him I didn’t want to stop. He told me about his first ex, the only girl he ever cried over. I checked out then. I didn’t care about him anymore. I sat on the curb because I couldn’t stand getting into his car. He said I was making a scene.
We went back to my house. On the couch, he laid in my lap. I played with his hair. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He was so handsome. I ran my finger over his lips before I kissed him. It was softer, sweeter. He said he couldn’t stop thinking about before, that he was so hard. It wasn’t rough this time, it was sweet. We fucked. I looked into his eyes, he looked into mine. He came again. I felt like we shared something.
The next day he said things, so I hung up. He spam called me. Six times. He texted: “if you don’t pick up this time, I’m never picking up your calls again.” I picked up. I said I wanted to treat it like just sex. He asked me for nudes, I sent them. He couldn’t stop talking about how amazing it was, how much he enjoyed me. “Insane sexual chemistry.” “Gordon growth model.” “Perpetual growth, extreme risk adjusted returns.” I was the only girl to make him cum from sex. He said I was a freak, I was crazy and insane. He’s never found someone that could complement him sexually. I told him he probably wouldn’t find it again. It takes a certain type of love to hurt yourself for someone. For me, love is sacrifice.
I told him I would try to be better about the “switch ups” because I still wanted the sex. I would ask him to degrade me during sex but he never did. It was sweet through the pain. I felt loved even though he never gave me a choice, even though he never did.
We made plans one day, when he left the front door to his house unlocked for me so I could visit his cat early. I went late. He told me no one really passed by during the day, but they lurked at night. I didn’t realise the responsibility, how I was being disrespectful by not considering the risk of leaving the front door open. I was on 160 mg of vyvanse. I felt sick, I felt insane. I texted the group chat that I had moments where I wanted to die. I mapped out how long the drive would be because I planned a long day. I updated my times and when I would start, I tried to communicate all morning. None of that mattered. When I got there, I gave him a greeting. No response. He was cooking. I went to the couch. I knew he was mad so I wanted to test the waters, but he wanted a direct apology. He called me over to the table because he wanted to talk.
I was disrespectful and no one was going to love a disrespectful person like me. How could I even think of him falling in love with me? I had no redeeming qualities. I was fat. Didn’t my parents teach me any manners? He never wanted to have sex with me again. He never wanted to talk to me again. He didn’t want me coming to the concert. He wanted me to leave immediately. I shouldn’t “break the car seat” when I get into my car. I only came back for my wallet, then he wanted to talk. But if I was going to defend myself instead of “taking accountability,” I should leave again. I said I was sorry, it was my fault. He said I didn’t look sorry. I was trying not to cry, I felt empty, I wanted to be alone. He said I shouldn’t leave, I can’t run from things. I need to deal with things to fix them. But I just wanted to be alone. Then he apologized, said he didn’t mean most of what he said. If I was fat, he would just tell me. But he meant it when he said I had no motivation, no drive. None of the “good” qualities he had in himself. He wanted to help me. I should set up a LinkedIn. Start Excel and Python courses. He’d give me his logins. He cared about me and he wanted to see me “better.” He went to shower. I cried, sitting there at the table alone. His cat came to me. I cried harder. He came out of the shower in a towel. Called me up. I wiped my tears and followed. I knew what was going to happen next. I hadn’t eaten all day for it. I gave in. I laid in his arms after. We talked. We shared smiles, small jokes. I felt a connection. I felt like things were finally getting better. We could actually have something, even if it wasn’t love.
The last day I saw him was the next day, for the concert. I was useless because I spent money, but not enough. I was useless every time I didn’t know a song, because the uber was $42, because I went to a concert I never cared about that I tried to cancel on multiple times, just to be told I had to go, otherwise I was fucking him over. A verbal commitment I never wanted to make was more important than my actual feelings. I felt the way he was pissed off, I felt the tension and the disappointment for something I should have never owed. I felt responsible for everything that stemmed out of “promises” I never wanted to make. I broke down outside of the hall. He took my phone, I couldn’t call or text anyone to come get me. He wouldn’t leave me alone. People came up to us asking if I was okay and if I needed help. I told him I never wanted to see him again. All he would say is: “look at yourself and look at me. You could never do better than me. Ask your friends too, they’ll agree.” I called my dad from my friend’s phone, he said he was coming to pick me up, but their uber came. He refused to leave me alone waiting for my dad.
He said he only cared so much because he saw a future with me. He wanted me to be “better.” He was only so harsh to help me. I got into the uber, I was in his arms. I tilted my head up, I wanted to admire him. I wanted a kiss. He looked down when I did, we locked eyes. He kissed my face. My forehead, my cheeks, my nose. Again and again. He called me baby like it meant something. I was held, tight, like I was wanted. He played with my skin, his lips everywhere on my face. It was so soft I thought it was real. I felt like I had been secretly waiting for this, through the denial, through the touches that were never supposed to mean anything. That night, something shifted. To me, we had something now. I left his house happy, content. I left thinking I had been held and maybe even seen.
I was weak for him when he just wanted to shut me up, protect his reputation, “how it looked.” The kisses, the sex, how he fucked me and then looked into my eyes while I came. It was nothing. Never real. Just damage control.
I called him the next day, he said I was “low quality,” a “burden and a liability.” He never wanted to associate with me again, he didn’t fuck with me. There was never a future for us, ever.
I got what I wanted, right? Annihilation, but what is that worth when there was nothing real to annihilate?