“Come on, say it,” my best friend insisted. I laughed if off. I didn’t like to think of past partners in such a negative light. I spent the past six months with this one, and I had fun. I really did. We got on really well, and I really believed we would be together for a long time.
But we were never exclusive.
I wanted to be exclusive. I liked him a lot. He led me to think he really liked me. But every time I asked, it was the same excuse. “I’m not ready.” When I asked why, I was serenaded with sweet nothings disguised as kisses and “I love you, but…”
One night he told me, “You should enjoy being single!” Despite sleeping over multiple nights a week, despite our late night drives and intimate conversations, I was still single in his eyes.
I tried to convince myself I was okay with it. I went out, flirted with other guys, got plenty of numbers. I told myself this was perfect. I was free to be young and reckless, while still having a man to come home to. But with all the other men I met, they never measured up. I couldn’t feel the same way about these men, as I did about him.
But he never wanted me. He never cared about me at all. If he had, I would have gotten more than just a text reading, “We need to talk,” as our official break-up.
“He’s a fuckin’ loser!”