Girls Can Be Real Jerks Too


Of the many adjectives that exist, alluring, sexy, seductive or elusive are some that I am not often branded with. Let’s be candid here : I’m never branded with these words. With the exception of one night that was, in all likelihood, very fateful for somebody else.

It began innocently enough. Casual text messages, flirty drunk comments (from my end, this dude doesn’t drink). At the time, I was living my life on top of the world (AKA New York City) and he was toiling away in Los Angeles. He was quite miserable there, so he says. Being on opposite ends of the country can put a beer-goggle effect on any relationship – friendship, relationship or otherwise. It’s mysterious, it’s foreign, it’s exciting. At the first horizon of a budding relationship, the view is absolutely, stunningly blinding. Every little thing becomes something that gets ignored or can be fixed.

When the two of us returned back to our homeland, this is when light began to illuminate more and more key traits that I had missed.

“Well, I suppose that would be great if I could go to Europe, but I don’t care to. At all. I’m fine just where I am.” No desire to see the world or expand horizons.

“You always have so much to do. I’ll never have that many friends. Hell, I don’t have any now.” Dripping with pessimism. He feels so sorry for himself.

“School is just school. It’s alright. I don’t really care. I guess I’d like to be a psychologist one day.” Remarkably unmotivated. His motivation was lacking so much, that had it been the opposite, he’d be Mark Zuckerberg.

Here I am, with all of this information laid before my eyes. What do I do? I continue to look past it. His jokes are hilarious. He is up for doing whatever I want to do. I looked past his emotional insecurities without realizing I was concocting a recipie for more.
As we spent more time together, the tension began boiling over the surface of this awry relationship. Texting became more frequent and more flirtatious, and we began making more plans. On a Friday, we went to the movies with another friend of mine, and we had all planned on spending the day and a better part of the evening together. Much to the dismay of my friend, I was called back home to help someone out. Naturally, I invited him along after we were well out of earshot. He accepted.

We played mini golf and ate burgers; it was the epitome of a date. Back at my apartment, we snuggled up while watching The Life Aquatic. I’m sure Bill Murray was judging me the entire time. As the time grew later and later, the evening casually morphed into a sleep over. In the darkness, I had butterflies flitting through my bloodstream. The cuddling came gradually, but the kissing came quickly after. Our bodies escalated into a tangle of youth and excitement. I could feel the tension in his bones and the fervor in his pants.

He stopped, “Hey, this won’t change anything, right?”

My consciousness kicked in. “Fuck” was the only word that really came to mind at that point. So, I began kissing him as a distraction, and I tried desperately to calculate an escape plan. My body began to slip out of the moment that he tried so fiercely to hold onto. He was elated. I could almost hear his mind saying, “Finally, it’s over. I can forget about everything else and be happy now.” My queen sized bed began to feel crowded.

When I woke the next morning, he had no idea. Not an inkling that I was about to quit cold turkey. I watched his car drive away with a belly full of relief.

I am the bitch here.

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