I was completely wasted, rolling on the floor of my bestfriend’s apartment after finishing off 5 bottles of beer and god-knows-how-many-shots of rhum.
Concerned, she and her boyfriend (who used to be my crush) decided to walk me home.
They plied me with tepid coffee and too-salty-soup at a 24-hour eatery near my dorm. All the while, my friend was asking me over and over if I was going to be alright. I was feeling embarrassed, rebellious and tortured; all the while hating this boy who had the gall to make me feel that way.
How dare he confuse me and rattle me and make me sick all over! I felt that if I saw him that moment, I would scratch his eyes out and sob on his shirt asking why he didn’t call me for 4 days.
My greatest fear was my affections had been toyed with (although at that time, I was too afraid to call what I was feeling “affection”).
Did I just offer my heart to someone who wouldn’t care less if I existed?
The giving-your-heart-to-someone, in this case, was not the agreeing-to-go-on-a-date. It was the 5-hour-flirting-over-text and the letting-him-touch-you-on-your-back-the-next-day.
Now that I think about it, he did not just touch me on the back. He leaned on me. We went on a 2nd date and he leaned on me. Inside a moviehouse. While watching a Bradley Cooper movie featuring 2 psychotic lovers. And how dare he do that! No one leans on me on the 2nd date and lives to tell the tale!
At this point, you may be wondering how it all started. Why did I go out with him and ended up drunk and crying at 2 am.
It was actually a blind date.
… to be continued