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Another Bad Situation
I’ve found myself in bad situations before. There’ve been times when I catch myself buying shorter skirts to gain the attraction of a gorgeous boy. There’ve been times where I’ve expertly studied the way of the cosmetic counter and put on big brands of make up to appear prettier than the beautiful girl in the front row of the class to make sure that that guy’s eyes wouldn’t wander. There’ve been times when I went out of my way to make myself available to a suggestion of a fun night out with the guy of my dreams.
Yes, I’d found myself in terrible situations like those before, acting before really thinking, and regretting the idiotic mistakes. I wondered what I’d been thinking, and then I’d get reeled back in and make more mistakes, worse than the previous ones, and leaving deeper scars at the end of the dark alleys they lead to. The fact that the mistakes were all for a boy made me suffer all the more – my heart had been cracked more than once by the same guy doing the same thing to me, and yet, I still found myself in the same situations.
Right now, I’m in a bad situation. Trying to pretend the pain isn’t alive is emotional suicide, but I’m still doing it. I’m hurting deeply, holding back the tears that had been flowing for a two weeks now, and pretending that I didn’t care.
I settled on the cozy window seat in my friend’s bedroom and leaned my head on the cool glass, staring up the starry sky, wondering why and how I always fell for it – the famous ‘I care about you’ hoax that the transparent gorgeous guys of the world used on all unsuspecting girls.
I lifted my head slowly and looked over at my friend Claire who was sitting comfortably on the warm carpeted floor of her bedroom with the rest of our girlfriends
She tried me for a smile. “Come join us.”
I widened my mouth in a fake smile and shook my head. “I like it here.”
But my thoughtful, yet unknowing friend wouldn’t let me peacefully drown in my self-pity party of one. She got up and perched on the seat across from me, mimicking my position. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied.
Claire, like the rest of my friends, believed that after two weeks, I was doing fine and handling things well, because that’s what I had told them.
“Then stop moping!”
“I’m not moping: I’m enjoying the stars!” I insisted. I cocked my head with a fake dreamy smile. “You know how much I love the stars.”
Claire sighed and nodded.
But I hated them. They knew every time I was pained because I turned to them nearly twice a week with the same tears for the same jerk. They saw me at my worst, yet I still gazed at them night after sad-ending night to pass my useless time.
“Either way, come join us,” Claire prodded, taking my hand gently. She pulled me off my seat and sat me down cross legged beside her. “What better way is there to spend your Friday night than hearing embarrassing stories form you best friends?”
If you’re broken like me – lying in bed with my stuffed dog would be just as great, I thought bitterly to myself.
But either way, I plastered on an amused smile as my friends talked about embarrassing things different guys said to them that they’d luckily managed to shrug off the effect of in time.
“And he was like, ‘You should try Proactiv.’ I just about DIED!”
I laughed along with the girls, even though I didn’t find it particularly funny. It was just another example at what jerks guys could be. It made me feel worse knowing that I still cared for him and felt like I’d do anything to make him happy – the feeling that he’d used to take advantage of me in the first place.
“That’s not that bad!” Tara argued. “Guys have said worse.”
“Then what is the worst thing a guy could say to you?” Danielle wondered out loud.
Oh, trust me girls, I thought sourly, there is a lot.
“He could say you’re ugly,” Tara offered.
“That you’re fat.”
“He could say that your breath reeks.”
But none of these were that bad in my opinion. I sighed and leaned my head back on the wooden bed frame, wondering when this stupid conversation would be over. I wondered why I even came tonight. Knowing I would be miserable and still choosing to surround myself with chirpy chatty girls at a sleepover was an example of a bad situation that I’d thoughtlessly get myself into time and time again.
Kind of like saying the three words that could drive guys away with lightning speed while knowing somewhere deep, deep, deep, DEEP down that he didn’t feel the same way.
“What about you, Sari?” Claire asked me, jerking me out of my sober thoughts and trying to include me in their lame party activities. “What’s the worst thing do you think a guy could say to you?”
My answer didn’t skip a beat. “Goodbye.”