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Naive

(take with this what you will. this is supposed to be anyone)

(please send in requests!!!! I will write about whomever I tag below)

Maybe I was naive, maybe I was gullible, or maybe he really meant what he said. Whatever the truth may be, I still ended up in pieces. A million, tiny, sharp pieces that would cut you open if you ever came close to me. I trusted him, and he betrayed me.

I loved him. He was the first person I had ever loved. I wanted to believe so badly that we would defy the odds and come out on top. I wanted us to last forever, and he told me he felt the same way. Unfortunately, he lied and I cried. How does love go to hate so fast?

I remember when we first started talking. He told me to keep it between us, and I told him I thought that would be fun. No one knew about us and the deep conversations we would have at ungodly hours of the night and morning. I told him all of my secrets and he told me his. He told me I was one of a kind and he thought that was the best thing about me. I told him to stop making me blush.

I remember when I finally cracked and first told my best friend about us with the biggest smile on my lips. She lacked the enthusiasm I contained, telling me she failed to see what was so great about him. I told her that he was different from what she thought. She said that he was definitely not what I thought he was and he wanted to keep us a secret because he was embarrassed. I told her she was wrong, and that I would prove it to her. I should have believed her.

I remember the first time I went over his house. We sat on his couch watching dumb Spanish soap operas, even though the both of us were mediocre Spanish speakers at best. What my best friend had said messed with my head, and I did believe her for a bit. I found it difficult to pay attention to the show and he noticed that. He asked what was on my mind and I meekly replied, “nothing.” He knew there was never nothing on my mind, so he persisted. I told him.

I remember his reaction. He stared blankly at me for a few moments before letting out a deep sigh and lightly shutting his eyes. I stared up at him with big eyes and a hope that what my best friend had said was untrue. He looked at me again and pulled the typical boy move. He pushed my hair out of my face and reassured me that he wanted to be with me and that there was nothing to be embarrassed about. I believed him and I wish I hadn’t.

I remember walking into school with him the next day. The people who knew us stared and whispered and within the first block of the day, everyone knew we were together. People in my classes whispered, people in the halls whispered, teachers even whispered. I was overwhelmed and he knew that. He told me that was what he wanted to spare me from, but I told him I could handle it. It just took some getting used to. He got me to relax, and I was immensely grateful.

I remember the first time we ever really kissed. I was sad about something dumb when we were together and he hated that. At first it was just a hug, with his chin resting on the top of my head. It was simple, but it was sweet. He whispered sweet nothings to me as I moped about, and he found that ineffective. I was sad and I told him that nothing could change that. He tried to fix me anyways.

I barely remember the moments before and after the kiss. He had my head spinning in tens of thousands of different ways. I was ranting about why I was sad and I had failed to notice the look he was giving me. After I finished speaking, his lips were on mine within seconds. I melted into his touch, my stomach doing flips and my heart running laps around my entire body. I had never felt that way in my entire life and I never wanted to stop feeling that way. I was putty in his hands and he knew that.

I remember the first time I fell asleep at his house. It was a Friday night after an excruciatingly long week of school, and I desperately needed to relax. He and I had been dating for about two months at that point and they had been the best two months I had experienced in a while. I had dozed off on his shoulder while we watched a movie. I woke up to a million soft kisses on my neck and a billion selfies of me sleeping on his shoulder.

I remember the day I realized I loved him. We were driving around in his car with no destination in mind. We were silent; the only sound was the drops of rain and music that softly flowed from the speakers in the car. He had one hand on the wheel, the other strategically placed in mine. My eyes followed the street lights as we drove past them. I found myself very happy with him and the place I was at in my life. Looking over at him, a feeling so crushing to my chest flooded through my body and I knew. I knew then that the overwhelming feeling that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time was love. I loved him, and I prayed that he loved me back.

I remember the day he told me he loved me. I made him bake cookies with me, and no matter how many times he denied that it was fun for him, I knew it was. He got to eat cookie dough, which I couldn’t because of my raw egg allergy. He made a point to rub in my face all of the cookie dough he could eat. I had just put the cookies in the oven when I caught him staring at me with a light in his eyes that made me want to scream. I asked him what he was staring at. He told me, very nonchalantly, “the girl I had the pleasure of falling in love with.”

I remember the feeling I got after hearing him say that. I stared at him, blankly I suppose, because his smile dropped completely after a few seconds of no reaction. I was beyond happy that he loved me, and I was more than one-hundred percent positive I loved him too. For some reason, my lungs felt like they were being squeezed by concrete hands and my stomach felt like it was twisting in a million different directions. He apologized, reached out to me, and pulled me into his arms. I cried, told him about my problems with love, and promised him I loved him too. It was then I realized how deep my issues were rooted.

I remember going to the junior Prom with him. We had been dating for six or seven months, and I was still amazed by him. He dealt with my issues, which I was slowly overcoming, and never made me feel like a burden. I was more than excited for Prom because I knew it was going to be the best time of our high school careers. I wore a red dress with jewels on the top and a high neck. I even thought I looked great. I refused to let him see me in it before pictures for the prom. I only sent him pictures of the color so he could get a suit and a boutonniere.

I remember the look on his face when he saw me for the first time in the dress. He looked wonderstruck and like I was an angel gracing his presence on Earth. (He told me that was what I looked like soon after.) I had never seen him look at me like that, and it made me feel absolutely every happy emotion there was. He made me feel like a princess, and he definitely looked like my prince. My mother cried and so did his, and the both of us just laughed at them. Nothing could bring us down. Nothing at all.

I remember the party after Prom. He had offered to have it at his house, and everyone graciously accepted. He invited both of our friends, which had started morphing into one group with the progression of our relationship. Everyone got along, which made everything that much easier. Half of the grade ended up showing their faces at the party, which stressed him out a lot. Most were drunk, and we were on our way to getting there with them. It was a good thing we all had changed out of our expensive clothes.

I remember what came next. He had gone to the bathroom and I was alone on the couch. I held a drink in my hand and slowly looked around at everyone in the house. A different boy sat next to me, and slowly slid his hand up my thigh. I attempted to move it, but it flew back like a magnet. The boy told me that I was too good for my boyfriend. The boy told me that if I ever wanted a good time, a better time than with the boy I had, he was always available. The boy told me to leave with him so he could show me that good time, for future reference. I told him to “back the fuck up” and he didn’t.

I remember the fight that sprung from the dumb boy’s stupid remarks. He had come back from the bathroom and found me uncomfortably trying to get the boy away. His anger and jealousy reached its boiling point and he pulled the boy away from me. They started fighting while most watched except for a few who tried to pull them off of each other. After multiple screams from me and others to stop, they were pulled apart from each other.

I remember leaving them both in that room. I made my best friend take me home. I left him and the dumb boy at the party. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so mad, but I was. He could have killed that boy, and although he deserved it, I was scared. I wanted to believe that he was better than that. After I got home, I ignored him for a few days. I ignored his texts, his calls, his attempted conversations in the hallway. I ignored him to the best of my ability.

I remember how he showed up to my house the following Saturday, soaking wet from the rain and frown on his lips. I finally stopped ignoring him and let him in my house. I gave him a towel and waited for him to start speaking. He started off by apologizing and explaining about how it made him sick to picture me with any other guy. He began rambling on about that and about how much he loved me and wanted no one else but him to be with me.

I remember telling him to shut up as I laughed slightly. I kissed him a few times. I gave him new clothes to change into and showed him to the bathroom. I sat on my couch, scrolling through Netflix. I tried to find a movie to put on but failed miserably. Nothing looked good to watch. I made him pick a movie after he changed and we ended up watching Pulp Fiction for the fifth time. Halfway through the movie, he asked what the boy from the party said to me. I told him everything.

I remember his reaction like it happened yesterday. He frowned, his anger etched in his eyes and facial expression. His hands balled into fists and he let out a long sigh. I muttered his name a few times, trying to get him to relax. Instead, he looked at me, a blank expression on his face, and asked if I was unhappy with him. I felt my heart crack in half at those words. He was genuinely curious. He thought I was upset about being with him. I guaranteed that if I was unhappy, he would know it. I, then, proceeded to tell him that any girl who would be unhappy with him was dumb and unaware of what they were missing.

I remember that night being the first time we had sex. We kissed for a while after that conversation. Sweet, simple, happy kisses. Slowly but surely, those kisses became more. I moved onto his lap. His hands gripped my hips as we began getting more heated. I gently kissed his neck as he stood up and carried me to my room. He laid me down on my bed and pulled my shirt over my head. We kissed until all of our clothes were off and his hands had touched almost every part of my body.

I remember seeing colors. Red, orange, yellow colors clouded my vision in a mix, splattered across the walls. Brown, his eyes staring deep into my heart and soul. The colors made it seem like everything was a dream, but the feeling was very very real. Red faded into orange and orange faded into yellow. I felt like the sun, shining warm, bright colors from every pore of my body. Everything was so beautiful. The colors, the sounds, us as one. I thought things couldn’t get any more perfect. He was all I ever needed, and I knew that then. I know that now.

I remember spending the summer with him. We went out together almost every single night, whether it be going to the movies, a restaurant, or one of our houses to watch Law & Order. Shockingly, we never got sick of each other. We went on college tours together, we went to the Fourth of July festivities together, we went to every party together. People were shocked that we were still perfectly content with each other. Some even made bets as to when the relationship would end. All of them were wrong. I blame this summer for the beginning of our downfall.

I remember our first major fight that we were both angry in. Towards the beginning of senior year, it was evident that we were spending too much time together. Certain comments that were made by either one of us would result in arguments, banter or even worse comments. We were getting into slight arguments almost all the time, and then the biggest fight of them all occurred.

I can’t quite remember what the fight was about, I just remember the screaming match we got into over it. Disgusting words were thrown at each other and we both said “fuck” and other variations more than we ever had in both of our lives. The fight occurred the night before the homecoming game, where the Queen would be announced. Both of us were on the Homecoming Court. We screamed, and I cried, and he called me pathetic. I was devastated. We didn’t talk until the football game.

I remember us making up after I was crowned Queen. I was happy, although there was the underlying dismay cast upon me because of the fight. He was the first person who greeted me after I got off of the field. He hugged me, we both apologized, and hugged some more. The next day he was crowned King and after the Homecoming dance, we had the best make up sex.

I remember the day I realized that our relationship was on its way to the end. We were watching Spanish soap operas on his couch and there was a tension in the air. Everything was different. We felt as if conversation was needed to avoid silence, when we preferred the silence before. We started fighting more often, and slowly, our relationship started to become based off of sex. We had sex more than we hung out regularly. After I got home from his house, I cried for hours. I couldn’t believe that was happening to us. Our relationship was so beautiful, so different, so loving. It was a shame to see it go up in flames so fast.

I remember the day it really ended. Somehow, we had made it to graduation together, and a few weeks into the summer. We had both decided upon colleges to go to. We were going to the same city, but our decisions were not influenced by each other. We had grown apart. I barely told him anything anymore, and he held back from me too. Most often than not, we were fucking or uncomfortably watching TV with each other. It was a mutual decision to end it. I was still beyond heartbroken.

I remember shutting everyone out for the rest of Summer. He had broken me. Any time someone tried to talk to me about him, I would tear them down with nasty comments and rude tones. I was mean to every person who cared for me, and I sometimes made my mother cry. I felt bad, but I was broken. I had never been hurt more by a person than I had been by him. Only after everything was over did I realize he had so much control over me and my emotions. I loved him then, I loved him after it ended, and I love him now. I always will.

Now, you tell me. Was I naive? Or was this real? Did he mean what he said? Or did I have too much hope for something that was bound to fail? Whatever the answer may be, our relationship was the most beautiful pleasure I have had in my life. I know I will never find anything like us ever again. Maybe, if we’re truly meant to be, we’ll find our way back to each other. Who knows? I sure as hell don’t.