The Worst Part 1/2
He never lets you sleep over anymore. At least not in the same bed. There was a time that you held the coveted spot next to him for those precious hours of much needed college sleep, but as he moved on to numerous other girls, you lost that spot.
Which is why you now lay on the couch- staring at his door, willing him to come out and ask you to keep him company. The starch smell of the freshly unpackaged thin bedsheet he gave you as a makeshift blanket for the night only serves to furiate you more. Of course he had been polite and nice and asked if you were okay. But you had learned long ago that complaining about the arrangements would be not only pointless, but stupid.
The college suite common room is bare of anything but furniture. There isn't even a television to distract you from the growing hurt and anger bubbling inside. Pushing aside the thought of the large down blanket and his warm body snoring underneath it, you focus your attention– but just for a moment– on the object of your hatred. No, not him. Her.
Now, you can be philisophical and Freud-like or whatever psychology term there it to apply here to say that "her" is just a pronoun representing the masses (Did you say masses? Slight extraggeration, but the point is made.) of girls he has managed to lure in with this striking blue eyes and charming personality. And how you really just want the best for him and your friendship. But who are you kidding? Out of the large group of devoted awe-struck girls, there is one that has driven you to the brink of jealousy that is, quite frankly put, not good for you. You never knew jealously until she came along.
Of course, there had been girls before you and her, but the guranteed solid friendship you had with him was never something you had questioned. You even didn't mind (too much) that he would never see you as more than the loyal best friend. Yet he finally did. And you were happy and he was happy. And then your worst nightmare emerged. The relationship ended in fear of "ruining the friendship" or whatever nonsense and then he moved on. Quickly, by the way. Very quickly. Which made you hate her even more. She had even pretended to be your friend. Then she took over your place in the bed. You wonder what's worse: Him moving on emotionally or physically. Because everyone (everyone being you, him, and her) knows that her sleeping over was not a sign of "physical needs." No, it was much worse. It was for the emotional deeper symbolic reasons of the relationship status.
And the most ironic chapter of this pathetic drama? He still kisses you sometimes or closes the door and climbs into the bed with you for a little foreplay and action. And then he always leaves – with no comment about what occurred or the consequences or how he or you felt. His insensitivity has reached the point that after he gets his "wham, bam, thank you ma'am," he has the gall to roll over and check that stupid cell phone for text messages from her. And you let him. And that's the worst part of all.
He never lets you sleep over anymore. At least not in the same bed. There was a time that you held the coveted spot next to him for those precious hours of much needed college sleep, but as he moved on to numerous other girls, you lost that spot.
Which is why you now lay on the couch- staring at his door, willing him to come out and ask you to keep him company. The starch smell of the freshly unpackaged thin bedsheet he gave you as a makeshift blanket for the night only serves to furiate you more. Of course he had been polite and nice and asked if you were okay. But you had learned long ago that complaining about the arrangements would be not only pointless, but stupid.
The college suite common room is bare of anything but furniture. There isn't even a television to distract you from the growing hurt and anger bubbling inside. Pushing aside the thought of the large down blanket and his warm body snoring underneath it, you focus your attention– but just for a moment– on the object of your hatred. No, not him. Her.
Now, you can be philisophical and Freud-like or whatever psychology term there it to apply here to say that "her" is just a pronoun representing the masses (Did you say masses? Slight extraggeration, but the point is made.) of girls he has managed to lure in with this striking blue eyes and charming personality. And how you really just want the best for him and your friendship. But who are you kidding? Out of the large group of devoted awe-struck girls, there is one that has driven you to the brink of jealousy that is, quite frankly put, not good for you. You never knew jealously until she came along.
Of course, there had been girls before you and her, but the guranteed solid friendship you had with him was never something you had questioned. You even didn't mind (too much) that he would never see you as more than the loyal best friend. Yet he finally did. And you were happy and he was happy. And then your worst nightmare emerged. The relationship ended in fear of "ruining the friendship" or whatever nonsense and then he moved on. Quickly, by the way. Very quickly. Which made you hate her even more. She had even pretended to be your friend. Then she took over your place in the bed. You wonder what's worse: Him moving on emotionally or physically. Because everyone (everyone being you, him, and her) knows that her sleeping over was not a sign of "physical needs." No, it was much worse. It was for the emotional deeper symbolic reasons of the relationship status.
And the most ironic chapter of this pathetic drama? He still kisses you sometimes or closes the door and climbs into the bed with you for a little foreplay and action. And then he always leaves – with no comment about what occurred or the consequences or how he or you felt. His insensitivity has reached the point that after he gets his "wham, bam, thank you ma'am," he has the gall to roll over and check that stupid cell phone for text messages from her. And you let him. And that's the worst part of all.