Reason
You do this for a reason, you think. There has to be some reason for the detachment and the sex without complication bit and the appeal of someone like Lucas. And you know the reason.
There was once a boy. He broke your heart. The piteous tale no one's heard because you have far too much pride and well, they'd probably never believe you anyway. He was your best friend and confidant, your savior and your sanity. You fell in love just like that, simply and quickly. But it wasn't that simple because he didn't reciprocate. He just pretended he did.
Only he was the kind of boy who manipulated things to his advantage. And once he had what he wanted from you, which was sex, of course, the one thing you hadn't given anybody, he was gone. Without a trace or a goodbye or anything of the like, because that required some kind of empathy and he didn't care. Not about you, not about anything you assumed.
You cried and cried until the tears refused to come and your mouth was so dry you could hardly speak. Peyton offered various solutions, none of them appealing. You chided yourself for your stupidity but that didn't make it hurt any less, of course it didn't.
And suddenly you learned. You learned from the boy the thing you thought you would never learn-detachment. Sex was an escape. It was fun and liberating and hell, it wasn't as if you had any standards for it anymore. Guys were attracted to you and you were hungry for attention in any form. You took open invitations and thrived in them. You f-cked whomever you could without any remorse. In the process you might have hurt some people, but you were immune to it all. This was your retribution and there was a justification in doing all of this. You just weren't sure what.
People whispered about you as if you didn't hear, and if you were honest with yourself you acknowledged that the things they said hurt. But most of the time you weren't honest with yourself so it was okay. It was okay as long as you felt nothing but that initial discomfort and the results that made it all worthwhile.
But then he came into the picture. And you saw something, felt something that you hadn't in a long time. You ignored it because it was probably just the realization that there was a good-looking guy who didn't appear to be all that interested in you. He didn't want to f-ck you, even when you openly offered yourself to him on several occasions.
He wanted Peyton because she had staying power and an appeal that you obviously didn't. He blew you off as an idiotic tramp. This was what your head kept telling you, and for whatever reason it bothered you far more than you would have liked it to.
And when you had no one else to call but him, he came immediately without any question. And when you talked to him until the sun came up, you noticed the way he looked at you when you spoke. He wasn't staring at your breasts or your skirt or finding any excuse to touch you. Lucas met you eye-to-eye and listened to the things you had to say with concentration and interest. He asked you questions and genuinely wanted answers. And you did answer- truthfully, for the first time in a very long time. You told him things you hadn't told anybody since.well since before. You told him things you thought you wouldn't be able to tell anybody again.
Lucas listened with attentive ears and patient eyes. The eyes you couldn't stop losing yourself in no matter how hard you were trying.
He mattered. You figured it out as you watched him on the court one day. You figured it out when he glanced over and gave you a slight smile and a nod. He mattered much more than you were willing to give him credit for in the beginning. You wanted to know what he thought and you wanted to share every part of yourself with him. You were willing to make yourself completely vulnerable. Because you wanted him to see you as something more.
And he started to-at least that was what you thought. But then Peyton came back into the picture and just that quickly he seemed confused. At a loss of what to do. You figured it was because he saw you as a toy, an uncomplicated toy that was a step below what he really wanted. That was Peyton, who was everything you would never be. So you pulled yourself out of the situation suddenly and effortlessly.
You feigned detachment and told him to be with Peyton because it was obvious they were meant for each other, two tortured souls making themselves miserable. You told him it wasn't as if the thing between you was serious, it was all a matter of physical want. And you had given him what he wanted and you had received what you wanted.
Then all of a sudden his face fell and you didn't know what to do. This was not supposed to happen-he wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to smile and agree and live in a land of contented bliss with Peyton. And you would go on, as you had before.
Loving another boy. Suffering another broken heart. All at your own accord, because this time it was no one's fault but your own.
Because Lucas loved you too.
You left him with Peyton and ran home and cried and cried some more and chided yourself again for being such an idiot. There is a reason you do this. You just can't figure out what it is exactly.
You do this for a reason, you think. There has to be some reason for the detachment and the sex without complication bit and the appeal of someone like Lucas. And you know the reason.
There was once a boy. He broke your heart. The piteous tale no one's heard because you have far too much pride and well, they'd probably never believe you anyway. He was your best friend and confidant, your savior and your sanity. You fell in love just like that, simply and quickly. But it wasn't that simple because he didn't reciprocate. He just pretended he did.
Only he was the kind of boy who manipulated things to his advantage. And once he had what he wanted from you, which was sex, of course, the one thing you hadn't given anybody, he was gone. Without a trace or a goodbye or anything of the like, because that required some kind of empathy and he didn't care. Not about you, not about anything you assumed.
You cried and cried until the tears refused to come and your mouth was so dry you could hardly speak. Peyton offered various solutions, none of them appealing. You chided yourself for your stupidity but that didn't make it hurt any less, of course it didn't.
And suddenly you learned. You learned from the boy the thing you thought you would never learn-detachment. Sex was an escape. It was fun and liberating and hell, it wasn't as if you had any standards for it anymore. Guys were attracted to you and you were hungry for attention in any form. You took open invitations and thrived in them. You f-cked whomever you could without any remorse. In the process you might have hurt some people, but you were immune to it all. This was your retribution and there was a justification in doing all of this. You just weren't sure what.
People whispered about you as if you didn't hear, and if you were honest with yourself you acknowledged that the things they said hurt. But most of the time you weren't honest with yourself so it was okay. It was okay as long as you felt nothing but that initial discomfort and the results that made it all worthwhile.
But then he came into the picture. And you saw something, felt something that you hadn't in a long time. You ignored it because it was probably just the realization that there was a good-looking guy who didn't appear to be all that interested in you. He didn't want to f-ck you, even when you openly offered yourself to him on several occasions.
He wanted Peyton because she had staying power and an appeal that you obviously didn't. He blew you off as an idiotic tramp. This was what your head kept telling you, and for whatever reason it bothered you far more than you would have liked it to.
And when you had no one else to call but him, he came immediately without any question. And when you talked to him until the sun came up, you noticed the way he looked at you when you spoke. He wasn't staring at your breasts or your skirt or finding any excuse to touch you. Lucas met you eye-to-eye and listened to the things you had to say with concentration and interest. He asked you questions and genuinely wanted answers. And you did answer- truthfully, for the first time in a very long time. You told him things you hadn't told anybody since.well since before. You told him things you thought you wouldn't be able to tell anybody again.
Lucas listened with attentive ears and patient eyes. The eyes you couldn't stop losing yourself in no matter how hard you were trying.
He mattered. You figured it out as you watched him on the court one day. You figured it out when he glanced over and gave you a slight smile and a nod. He mattered much more than you were willing to give him credit for in the beginning. You wanted to know what he thought and you wanted to share every part of yourself with him. You were willing to make yourself completely vulnerable. Because you wanted him to see you as something more.
And he started to-at least that was what you thought. But then Peyton came back into the picture and just that quickly he seemed confused. At a loss of what to do. You figured it was because he saw you as a toy, an uncomplicated toy that was a step below what he really wanted. That was Peyton, who was everything you would never be. So you pulled yourself out of the situation suddenly and effortlessly.
You feigned detachment and told him to be with Peyton because it was obvious they were meant for each other, two tortured souls making themselves miserable. You told him it wasn't as if the thing between you was serious, it was all a matter of physical want. And you had given him what he wanted and you had received what you wanted.
Then all of a sudden his face fell and you didn't know what to do. This was not supposed to happen-he wasn't supposed to care. He was supposed to smile and agree and live in a land of contented bliss with Peyton. And you would go on, as you had before.
Loving another boy. Suffering another broken heart. All at your own accord, because this time it was no one's fault but your own.
Because Lucas loved you too.
You left him with Peyton and ran home and cried and cried some more and chided yourself again for being such an idiot. There is a reason you do this. You just can't figure out what it is exactly.