I’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than a month. But I think that’s about to change.
Over the weekend, I partied. I drank. I danced. I toked (once). In essence, I kind of did the whole college experience, sans the horrible rap music in the background. And I met this really nice guy. Brad is into hard rock, baseball, and marijuana legalization (for obvious reasons). He’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. But if I’m not making out with him, I don’t know what to do or say.
The face lowers. The mouth dries. All train of thought drifts away, like the smoke in which he engulfs himself. Even now, his smell is still in my clothes.
“What do you want from this?” he asked me, my hand in his as he drove me back to my door.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I have no clue.”
But that was a bit of a lie. I did want something. I wanted security, happiness, friendship. I wanted conversation that didn’t feel like small talk. I wanted people to say, “Oh, there’s Chloe’s boyfriend, Brad. Aren’t they so cute?”
I can’t say that to him, though. It seems too much, too soon.
People are afraid to be vulnerable. They are terrified of it, and so they hide in distraction and misrepresentation. The heartthrobs of television and media are tough and merciless. They don’t give a fuck about anyone, and dat’s cool. But no one tells you vulnerability is beautiful. No one says that the bared neck receives more, be it kisses or scars. Heartthrobs get more action, but the soulful are the real winners.
I used to think that if I was a good girl and waited for my fantasy, I would get it. But it doesn’t work that way. You have to work for what you want, and he is what I want.
It’s time for a change.