10 - Saying “I Love You”

This story contains characters over the age of 18

Chapter 10 - Saying ‘I love You’ Has Nothing To Do With Meaning It

I managed to avoid having sex until later that year. I was an 18-year-old high school senior. Although I wasn’t the kind to do something just because everyone else was doing it, I knew that I was one of the rare few not indulging in a single taboo activity. Even so, I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been bleeding from a broken heart. That’s where it all went wrong. I chose the wrong person, for the wrong reasons, and ended up in a bad relationship that twisted who I already was and shaped me into the adult I would be.
The person was a friend from high school. He followed me around like a puppy. He would ask me out and I would turn him down, citing that I had a boyfriend. But he wasn’t going anywhere, and I enjoyed the attention. My boyfriend, a friend’s older brother, was a few years older than me. He had finished his two years at the local community college, and decided to move to a university a few hours away. I would have done anything to continue to be with him, but he decided that, after spending a summer without me while I was studying abroad, he could live without me. It seemed he had grown apart from me in my absence. We had some long talks, but he was noncommittal and nonspecific, not wanting to end it officially. He was in town on the anniversary of our first date, and we hung out, but he didn’t remember the date. I was 18 and female — I remembered the date and was hurt. I told him what was going on, and we finally realized we were not in the same place and broke it off. Even though it was sensible, it still hurt like hell. I don’t know if I would say I loved him, but we understood each other. Sometimes I wonder if he saw the darkness inside me and was afraid of what that would bring out in him.
A few days later, I was propositioned again by this friend. I agreed to come over and spend a platonic evening with him watching a movie, as a friend. His parents allowed us to watch the movie in his basement bedroom, completely unobserved. He was familiar, and I cuddled up with him on his bed. I knew he wanted me, and I knew I was sending him mixed signals, but I couldn’t help myself. His hands started travelling. I was no stranger to fooling around, and soon we were making out and stripping off clothes. I allowed it to go further than I otherwise would have, upset over my recent breakup and aroused by the fact that we were alone. Distracted by the feeling of his lips and hands moving on me, he was inside me before I had consciously decided to lose my virginity. All of a sudden, I was drowning in the sensations, the feeling of his weight on me, that foreign feeling of him moving inside me — and I was hooked, introduced to the world of sex.
That stormy relationship is detailed later in this book. We were together for about a year and a half, through my first semester away at college. We fought so much, our breakup was no surprise, but it was incredibly ugly. He knew me very well, and he refused to let me go. They say it takes an average of seven times to leave an abusive relationship before it’s finally over. It took me twice, with him claiming he would change, calling me hundreds of times a day, and ultimately threatening suicide. I made sure his mother was aware of his mental state and his threats; she told me to stop bothering him, so I changed my phone number. I was constantly afraid of going places he might go, terrified of turning a corner and running into him. He’d never threatened to hurt me — only himself — but a part of me believed he might kill me. I had nightmares for several months. I still wasn’t sure he was out of my life until years later when all of my friends and family had moved and changed phone numbers, and I was living out of the state.
Finally, for the first time I was in complete control of my sexuality and my life. I was free to live however I wanted. I had my own apartment. I continued seeing my best friend and fooling around with her from time to time, but neither one of us wanted anything that resembled a relationship. We were comfortable with experimenting and remaining friends rather than lovers.
I met a sexy guy and decided to try being friends with benefits. I didn’t want to be tied down any more than he did, but for health and safety reasons, we agreed to tell the other if we wanted to be with someone else. We enjoyed each other on the weekends, then I found out he was having sex with one of my friends while I was away at school. This was against the rules we had set out, and was an even more shocking betrayal from my friend, so I cut them out of my life.
I seduced a coworker who made his desire for me blatantly obvious, making it incredibly easy to toy with him. It wasn’t physically satisfying, but it continued to be more fun to tease than to indulge. I wish I could say I stopped playing with him when I realized how emotionally unstable he was, but it didn’t end until I quit that job and didn’t have to see him anymore.
At this point, I believed I was not capable of loving anyone. I had had the experience of several long-term relationships and numerous flings. I just never seemed to feel what they felt. That all changed when I met my husband.