It was the Fourth of July. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple weeks. We were in your room laughing, talking, catching up. It was still weird to me- you and I. Six months later and I still wasn’t quite used to it.
I was new to this whole dating thing, and what we had was so unlike what you see on T.V. A couple texts a week (sometimes), making out in your bed, movies, bowling, no commitment, and of course, all the other girls you were fucking. Honestly, though, it didn’t bother me. We both had feelings but not strong ones. And, if we’re being honest, my heart at the time was with someone else who was miles and miles away.
We were both happy with what we had; a friend to talk to when the days were hard and who we could kiss when we felt lonely. I knew I was a bit more attached than you, but nothing more than you having a special place in my heart being my first kiss, date, etc. You respected that I didn’t want sex and I respected that that meant you getting it somewhere else. We were good, we were cool.
Until the Fourth of July.
You were sitting at your desk while I laid across the end of your bed. We were talking, catching up, the same as any other night. Your job, my classes, your mom, my sister. The conversation was always so easy with us.
Finally, you put on a movie (another part of our normal routine) and joined me on the bed. Your arm was around my body as I curled up into your side. Your hand found its way up the back of my shirt to trace my skin and I almost laughed at the routineness of it. I already knew what was next- a compliment and then the kiss which would lead to a couple hours of making out and cuddling until it got too late and I had to go home.
The kiss came, gentle and slow and you rolled on top of me. I was still laughing at something you’d said but you kissed me nevertheless. Your shirt came off quicker than usual and your hand went down the back of my pants. It was just like normal. Until it wasn’t.
Suddenly my leggings were being tugged down to my thighs and your hand was where it had been only once before and you’d listened when I said to stop. I struggled to get them back up as you lifted me in your arms, and only when you opened the drawer of your dresser did I realize what you wanted from it. I pushed your hand away and struggled out of your arms.
You were polite. You were always polite. You kissed me again and led me back to your bed, showing me you were done trying, the bad part was over. Only it wasn’t.
You took off my clothes, telling me it was okay, that you weren’t going to do anything I didn’t want. When you told me to turn around I did because it never crossed my mind that you would break my trust. And then you were on top of me and inside of me and telling me it was okay, it wouldn’t hurt for long. I begged you to stop. “Please” became the only word I knew as the tears streamed down my burning cheeks.
Finally you stopped and turned me over, telling me to get in the bed so we could cuddle. You saw my tears and laughed. Not a minute later you were getting up, telling me to get dressed and you’d take me home. I had never been more relieved or more sad to leave you.
That was the first night you did that to me, and the only night you actually stopped before you wanted. Our routine changed. I now talked as much as I could trying to prolong the time before you would take me. When I cried you would hold me tighter to your chest but only move faster. And when we were done, we never cuddled anymore. And I kept going back. Because the more it happened the deeper in love with you I fell and the more distant you became.
And that’s it, there was no good ending. I don’t even know if you knew you were doing anything wrong, and you sure as hell never knew I fell in love with you. You owned me for that short time in every way there is to own a person and sometimes, when I find myself disgusted by what I see in the mirror and thinking no man would ever want me again, I think you still do. I don’t know how to get me back from you. I don’t know how to not love you.