What The Heart Wants
Chapter 1
Eighteen.
I met the man I wanted to marry at eighteen years old.
Still in high school, I met him on a social network used to meet new people. I was depressed, I needed to keep my mind off my thoughts. So, I talked to people. Mostly guys, for some reason. Maybe it was the ego stroking? The fact that they would bend over backwards for a chance with me? To feel less lonely? Yes, all of those.
I wasn't looking for a relationship at all. Not even a casual encounter. It was a sort of therapy I got addicted to. I loved keeping busy, I loved talking with strangers, hearing them compliment my every fault and perfection. I couldn't get enough. I forgot my depression for hours at a time, talking to guys who showered me in attention.
I was empty, but the false stimulus of filling my time with meaningless words designed to flatter me build a sort of defence against the emptiness. I learned to ignore it. On the plus side, I learned to be more social. Who would have pegged the introverted girl who made eye contact with absolutely no one talked to complete strangers, dances with random men at clubs, drinking herself into a stupor every chance she got? More than that, somehow she kept it from her parents.
It was a kind of ecstasy. A kind of obsession. It became a fix for all of life's problems. Alcohol and men. There was absolutely no sex included. In fact, I preferred talking and kissing above all else. Maybe I needed to talk and kissing kept them coming back. Sex wasn't an option. In fact, I was a virgin and uneducated in sex. I focussed more on the surface than something deeper.
Did that cause people to label me? And I frequently asked if I even cared about what people might think. The truth is, I didn't. I was good at hiding it from the people who judge me. It was all such a secretive part of my life. To my parents I was the smart, quiet girl always studying; the girl who got her future all figured out; the girl who helped no matter what; maybe a little too difficult at times and impossible to be around sometimes. But none the less, I was their wished for child. I had all these people expecting me to do great things, reach great heights, and not let anything stop her.
The alcohol, music and men didn't stop me. The depression and cries for attention didn't stop me. My greatest motivation to aspire to be the best; I needed to get out. Fast.
I needed to start over. Maybe that would make me happy. I wanted a job more than I wanted to live; I needed the money. Badly.
Nothing would stand in my way.
One careless, normal day, I got a friend request from a guy. I was hesitant from his profile picture. He seemed really into himself and a little bit too old for me. But why not? Another guy looking for a quick pick me up? It couldn't hurt. Not at all. It wasn't like I was going to magically fall for this man. I'd talk to him, he may stroke my ego, and he might flatter me.
I accepted.
He flattered me through and through. Mostly talking about sex. He taught me things about it I never even knew existed. This man, who sounded like a complete pervert, was also intelligent. He intrigued me. I felt an overwhelming need to know him. Without getting attached.
Besides, I couldn't get attached, I had a boyfriend. Then again, my boyfriend might have been perfect for any girl due to his personality. Here was a guy who wanted nothing more than to give me whatever I wished for on a silver plate, standing on his bleeding knees. He'd suffer to make me smile. He loved me unconditionally. He was perfect for a girl. I seemed to have that effect on all guys. They ran to me when I called and bowed when I told them. I felt powerful. Depression? Who cared about that when I could drink myself happy and party with guys who thought rubbing up against me would make me fall at their feet when exactly the opposite would happen?
I was on top of the world.
And what different would this guy I was so mesmerized with be? He'd be like the rest and I'd treat him like the rest. Wouldn't I? It was only logical and only fair. I wasn't picking favourites.
Week for week, I learned more. He made me laugh like no other guy ever had. He taught me things I didn't even think about. Sure, at times, I played dumb just so I can hear him explain to me what I already knew. I loved it. And I hadn't even met the guy yet.
I woke up in the mornings, wondering if he was already awake. I talked to him all day. All night. I even did things I have done before, but not like this. Things I later became ashamed of. I shared my naked body with him through poorly taken photos in my bedroom.
Of course he wasn't the first guy. But I was waiting to eat up every flattering word he would tell me. And most of the time I did. Sometimes he shocked me and it made me suddenly doubt myself. But this guy…oh my god, this guy. He was something else.
Still, I wouldn't let myself get attached. I had a plan, this was a little detour.
I still partied and drank, I still let guys lavish me with attention. Then it all started to go downhill. I felt guilty, without a valid reason behind it, for talking to all these guys, for revelling in their flatteries. I felt ashamed of all the exposing photos I shared; for every guy I kissed; every guy I'd bat my lashes at; for every guy thinking he had a chance; for being with my boyfriend.
I felt ashamed of who I was. Leading on these poor souls for no reason other than using it as an escape from my grim reality. Especially my "boyfriend", who never really truly felt like a boyfriend. He was a good guy, but he wasn't my guy. I wanted to release the hold I had on him. It wasn't fair for me to keep him if I didn't even see him as part of my future. I felt a constant guilt for everything that made me feel ecstatic and made me feel a secure sense of false happiness. It all started pounding in my head.
How could I?
How could I continue when suddenly, I searched for him everywhere? This man. This amazing man that challenged me, teased me and drew me in so completely. He first seemed like the ultimate game and I had to win. But then I fell for him so deeply, so wholly that I didn't even realize I had already lost and that maybe he was still playing the game.
In fact, it would seem natural, the entire situation. So obvious. After all, I was only 18 and this man was 30 years of age.
But I was blind to it. Or maybe I refused to see what was happening. All I focused on was the smile that would break out on my face when we talked. And suddenly he was all I thought of, all I talked about, all I cared about.
I have never felt like that in my entire life and it was much too good to give up.
I wanted to meet him so badly and I had all the support I needed to finally look this man in the eyes.
It took me a while to gather up the courage. Maybe that should have been a warning sign. Since when was I nervous about meeting a man? But I was too excited to care.
Finally, we set a date. Of course, my parents refused to believe what I was telling them. I, a girl who was so smart, was going to go live with a 30 year old man I have never met before? Was I out of my mind? Was I purposely looking for trouble? Maybe, on a very subconscious level, I was. Or maybe it was just that I felt like I had nothing to lose, so I might as well.
Being naïve is a very seductive state of mind. Everything seems so rosy and so simple. I was, figuratively, giving another person a gun and pointing it at myself, believing they wouldn't pull the trigger.
I was willing to take a chance.
I stood up to my parents. I was willing to lose them to gain this man. They finally gave in, accepted him because they knew I wasn't going to change my mind.
And I met him. I met Sam Oliver. I was ecstatic. And more so, I was a shy little girl again with no social skills. I loved every minute of it. Every single second was electrifying.
I was thrilled when I finally could look him in his brown eyes. He had a slight bold spot on the top of his head, but it didn't bother me. He was beautiful. So much more beautiful than on any picture. And his lips. His lips were plump and rosy. I just wanted to taste them,
The first night we spend together, we kissed for the first time. No kiss has ever tasted that sweet. It seemed that it was intoxicating to the point where all my restraints fell away. No, we didn't have sex, but it didn't mean we didn't do anything. I didn't regret it. Not at all. I wasn't even ashamed afterwards. It felt right. I felt happy. A real kind of happiness. It was nothing like getting drunk, getting attention, and kissing some guy at a party. It was so much better than all of those things.
I was looking at him with rosy vision. Everything was suddenly perfect.
The next day we were sitting on his bed talking. It might have been seen as boring, objectively, talking about computers. But he made it interesting. In fact, it was his job. He worked in IT and he was highly intelligent. Though, I kept wishing for him to just kiss me. When he finally did, it didn't stop there. I was on my back and he was on top of me. There was no stopping it now. Neither of us would stop this if we could.
It was good, it was fun, and it was brand new. This feeling was brand new. It was better than kissing.
Yet why was I so shocked? Why did I wish it happened differently? Not that I regretted losing my virginity to him. That I didn't regret at all. I just thought it would be more special. I was used to being treated like I was special.
I guess that's what I liked about Sam. He didn't treat me like a special little glass doll. So I regretted nothing. I mean, so what if it happened the way it happened. At least it happened with him. So quickly, so impulsively, I loved him. Of course I told him. What did I have to be ashamed of?
He had trouble saying the words, but it was okay with me, he'll say it in due time, that much I knew. And he did, but not much, and mostly only when I said it.
The moment the words left my mouth, the moment I said "I love you", I was defeated. Game over for me.
Then, it all started going wrong…