Slow RecoveryI loved him. I knew it, too. I was so madly in love with him. Things were easy between us. I got that butterfly feeling in my stomach, I was definitely attracted to him, he always made me laugh. I knew he felt the same way about me, too.
Or maybe I just thought he did.
I was so happy with him. Everyone could see it. I felt cold and empty without him. It scared me how much I felt for him.
Let me start at the beginning. I was a freshman, off to boarding school where I knew no one. I was nervous and excited and eager. I met my exact opposite. She was my roommate. We fought a lot, but we clicked. It was a love/hate relationship. She thought I was too messy, too loud, too hyper. I thought she had a stick up her *** and needed to live a little. Our music tastes were even opposite. Our polar opposite personalities worked. She helped me become a little neater, I helped her live with a little mess every now and then. I got her listening to hard rock and rap, and she got me permanently hooked on indie music. Things probably couldn't be better.
Then I met him.
He was tall, tan, and drop dead gorgeous. And I heard he had his eye on me. He came over to talk to me, and I nearly fainted. We started talking more and more, as did the students around us. After a week or two of flirting and constantly hanging out, he asked me to be his girlfriend.
My first boyfriend. I was in love.
We moved pretty fast. I'm not going to go into detail, but he was pretty much my first everything. But there was one thing I was adamant on; no sex.
He obliged easily. He was three years older than me, and promised me he would never take advantage of me. He told me he was a virgin, too.
And he was. I may or may not have asked his friends.
The sight of him alone gave me butterflies in my stomach. The thought of him being my first, and I being his, nearly made me explode.
We went on steadily for a while. Catty girls were jealous of me, but I learned to handle it. A few snide remarks and rumors didn't faze me. I had him, and that was all I needed.
Things got serious between us, and I knew I was undoubtedly in love with him. It was around that time that he told me he loved me, too.
We were inseparable. We kept our grades up, barely. We occasionally hung out with people besides each other. And when we weren't together, we were talking on the phone to each other. But the feeling I had when I wasn't with him was horrible. When we were at work or school and couldn't see or talk to each other, I felt hollow and sick.
It scared me. It scared me to think about how I would feel if anything ever happened to us.
I knew nothing would.
But soon, he started acting distant.
He wouldn't tell me why. I was worried, he told me everything. He used to, at least. The hollow feeling increased a ten fold.
I started feeling insecure around him for the first time. I felt afraid to approach him, like he wouldn't want me there.
I sank lower and lower. I felt nothing like I used to. I broke down. My roommate was there for me. I sobbed, telling her everything. I doubt she understood even half of it. I was hysterical.
Days went by where he would barely say anything to me. He seemed almost lifeless around me. I'm sure I was the same.
The minuscule shred of hope I still harbored left me completely.
Four words gave me that hope back in the span of two seconds.
"He's looking for you."
And he was. I practically ran to him. I knew where he was. I saw him and I nearly cried with happiness. He called my name and I ran faster, like a dog to it's owner.
"You look beautiful."
My heart swelled. The butterflies came back.
Our gazebo. Our safe haven. I knew we would be okay.
He was the first to speak. "Do you think this happened too quickly?"
"No," was my answer. Sure, we things happened quickly. But too quickly? No.
He sighed, placing his beautiful face into his lean, perfect hands. "Please don't make this any harder than it already is."
I froze. My stomach did flips, my heart raced. Those words were not words I wanted to hear. No! This was NOT how things were supposed to go! He was supposed to tell me he loved me! He was supposed to tell me he wanted us to make us work! That he would never leave me!
He peeked at me through his long fingers. I pulled them off his face completely.
I took a deep breath. "Make what harder?"
I knew what. I guess the masochistic part of me was just dying to hear him say it.
"Don't act like this is news to you. Look at us! Are you really going to try and tell me you're happy right now?"
I took another deep breath. My words came out steadily and with conviction. "I love you."
"I loved you."
I wasn't stupid. I didn't miss the past tense. I knew what his words meant. "But not anymore."
"I'm so sorry. The last thing I want is to hurt you."
Well, I hate to break it to you, but that's EXACTLY what you're doing. I didn't say that though. "And the last thing I want is to see you unhappy."
"I'm so sorry," he repeated.
"I know you are," I said solemnly.
"So you're not going to yell and cry and break things?" he said with an almost-smile.
"Tempting, but this gazebo looks pretty sturdy," I joked back with an almost-smile of my own.
Silence. My throat was burning with unshead tears, threatening to spill over.
He spoke again. Just above a whisper. "Thank you."
I took in a shaky breath and nodded. There was nothing left to be said. It was over. We were over. Why stay and make this harder on either of us? I stood up and walked out of his life.
It was when I got to my room that it really hit me. I sobbed loudly and mercilessly. My body convulsed and I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest. I ignored the knocks on my door. I turned off my phone. I heard the sound of a key turning a lock. The door slowly opened, light pouring into the room. I hadn't realized how dark it had gotten.
My roommate stood in the doorway, shopping bags in hand. She had been off campus for the day. She dropped them by the door, out of character for her. She came over to me, dropping down to my pitiful form, sprawled out on the floor.
"What happened? I tried calling you, but it went straight to voice-mail," she said softly.
"He broke up with me," I croaked out.
The sobbing started all over again. She pulled me into her bed, crawling in next to me. I fell asleep.
My alarm went off. I woke up confused and wondering why I was in my roommate's bed. I peered upwards to see her in mine.
The previous day came back to me. I was cried out, for the time being. I lifelessly shuffled to the other side of the room to hit the snooze button. Instead of going back to bed, I decided to go to the nurses office. I was not feeling up to going to school.
She told me that she would give me a sick day, but she advised me to go to class. That I would feel worse isolated and staying in bed. I reluctantly agreed.
I received a lot of sympathetic glances and embraces. I promised myself I wouldn't cry.
I did. One look at the gazebo broke me down. I saw him, too. I saw him with her. He looked happy. With her.
Every day I saw him with her. He moved on rather quickly. They moved faster than he and I did.
I couldn't escape the rumors. It broke me.
I was a zombie. I had nothing. He looked happier than he had in a while.
Days passed into weeks. I isolated myself. I stopped eating and sleeping right. He did this to me. I knew he did this to me. He knew he did this to me. It was obvious.
School came to an end. I had a few select friends who stuck it out with me. I went home and thought about him everyday. He haunted my dreams. That aspect didn't change. But I kept going. I returned to school that fall. Things had changed drastically since the previous year, but I coped. I stayed secluded, but I found something that made me feel alive again. And that was all I could ask for.
Thanks for reading. I know it's long, but it's my story. A part of it, at least.