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Is It Me?
What was he thinking? What does she have that I don’t? My friends say, “Nothing,” and that he is an idiot. But if that’s true, why can’t I get him out of my head? I thought we had it all. We seemed so happy. I was wrong, or he is. In the end, there is no right and wrong, no happy and sad. It is what is, and you can’t change that.
I had an inkling that he was sneaking around with another girl when he would come over with a feminine scent lingering around his clothes. He would play it off, say it was his sister’s. Maybe I should have noticed when he would ditch me and pick a fight. He would always come back, and we would always make up…when he was done with her.
I don’t know who she is, or where the hell she came from. I really shouldn’t blame her; she had no responsibility to me, no sense of how much it would hurt. I really can’t be mad at her. It’s not her fault, it’s his. He’s the one who hurt me so bad, but I still can’t help but think that she’s a skank.
Well, karma’s a b**ch and someday they are both going to get theirs. Maybe this was me getting mine. True, I’ve lied, and cheated, I’ve made up excuses, my decision making hasn’t always been the best, I’ve put things off (things I should have done right away), I’ve been snappy, and rude, and a downright b**ch at times. So perhaps I did deserve this. I’m human, though, I make mistakes. I’d like to think that I haven’t been malicious, that I haven’t hurt someone on purpose.
It would have been okay, you know, the sneaking around, the cheating, and even the leaving me. I mean yeah, it would have sucked, but it would have been relatively easy to get over. It would have been so much easier if he never said he loved me, never told me I was his world. Things are a lot harder to deal with when you think you mean everything and in the end you mean nothing, because you always meant nothing; I always meant nothing.
The heart breaking isn’t something that is easily explicable; it’s something that you have to experience. The only thing you can do is cry, until nothing else comes out. Time supposedly heals all wounds. I don’t know that I agree. All time really does is put a band-aid over your wounds, and soon the band-aid will peel off, and you’ll be left with a scar. It never really goes away and it is never completely healed, it just hurts a little less, and then a little less, until you only get a tingle of the pain every once in a while.
You would probably want to know how we got here, how we got to this horrible place. It started the day we met; at least I fell in love that beautiful, glowing August day.
I remember it perfectly. Honestly. Perfectly. It was so hot that day that the heat radiated off the street. The steam blurred my vision and I could barely see my hand. Yet somehow, I could see him as though I was looking through crystal. Everything about him was perfect, flawless even. The kind of flawless I wished I could someday achieve.
I could tell the kind of person he was based on the obviously expensive cologne he wore. I still don’t know what it was, but sometimes when I’m alone, I get a whiff of it. I’m sure it’s my imagination, that I want him to be there so bad, smell him. But that scent, that manly victorious scent has made me realize that in the he really cared more about who people thought he was, rather that the person he actually becoming.
He spoke. If I remember nothing else in my life, I know that I will remember what he said. His voice filled the room though it was only a whisper.
“Hey pretty girl, what’s your name?”
The high school auditorium never seemed so bright. I know it seems cheesy, but he lit up my world.
It was freshmen orientation. Not mine of course. I’m a junior, but I was helping out. So was he; I’m sure you already figured that out. I don’t know why we had never met before. We found out later that we actually went to school together since junior high. I was in seventh grade when he was in the eight. Then we were in high school together until the beginning of my junior year before me met each other. It seems odd. We were practically meant for each other. Then again, we were different people back then; we weren’t ready for each other.
After he asked who I was, I decided I would either look like an idiot or a snob if I didn’t respond. I collapsed into the velvet of the newly renovated seats, and uttered my name, “Peyton,” with a slight satisfaction, “yours?”
“Lucas,” he said. He said it as though he hadn’t asked mine, like who I was didn’t faze him in the least.
I knew it was going to be a game. I think that’s what intrigued me, the thrill of the chase. We all know that I wouldn’t admit it for a second that he had me completely at hello, but he did.
In retrospect I should have seen this coming. Then again hindsight is 20/20. I’m sure you could guess that our relationship escalated from there. He gave into his curiosity later that night: he added me on Facebook. Lame, I know, but a jolt shot through me as if I had been struck by lightning; I was too excited for words.
A few minutes later I received a Facebook message. I clicked on it, knowing, praying it was from him. His words are lost to me now, but I do remember I ended up giving him my screen name. We carried out our flirting on AIM for the rest of the night and into the morning. By the time I had looked at the clock it was just after 2:30 in the morning. I wasn’t the least bit tired, and I don’t think he was either. We talked for a little while longer, but we both knew we should get to bed. We said our goodbyes and agreed to talk the next night.
More of the same flirting and chatting continued the next night. He invited me to a movie that Friday night. We went to see Halloween. Not the most romantic of movies, but it was fun; at least I had an excuse to grab his arm. That Sunday, while I was camping with my family for Labor Day weekend, I became his girlfriend. It was kind of corny. He didn’t have my number, so he asked me out through a text message. I was too excited, I didn’t even have time to think about how lame it was.
The rest is history. We were practically inseparable. Well, that’s not exactly true. He did have time to cheat on me. It seems almost comical now. That he would cheat on me. With her. Rachel. I found out that was her name. Honestly, I have never met a Rachel I liked. Maybe it’s the name. You can be sure I won’t be naming my daughter that. Not the point, however, I really don’t have any hard feelings for her. I’m saving those for him. It’s hard to believe that I still love him though, honestly, if he came crawling back, I would probably say yes. My god, I am pathetic.
Now here I am, six months later, wonder what the hell happened. What did I do? What could I have done? What was he thinking? What does she have that I don’t?