A/N: This is a bit of a lengthy piece, but breaking it into parts would take away the effect. This story is very tragic and upsetting, with explicit content (and I'm not even over doing this with the warning). If you are uncomfortable with reading things like this, stop at any time. Im trying to get forth the feeling of passion, and work with character emotion through narration so any input would be much appreciated.
Im not looking for any line by line reviews, for that would certainly take too long with the length of this piece. Just generic wholesome ones on the main highlights of things you think I can work on.
Mishaps of the Heart
Its exactly seven minutes after midnight that I started writing this, condemning myself to relive these past four months and eleven days and the painful moment of their solemn conclusion.
I am not one to sulk, nor one to complain about my every problem looking for some sort of pity. I am one who always imagined myself strong, capable of bearing all these secrets, all these horrible little truths bottled up inside of myself. Nobody else should have to take responsibility for my own problems. But at this very moment, where it feels like my heart had being gruesomely ripped out of my very chest and in its place left a gaping hole, I realized, that I wasn’t so strong as I thought myself and I just longed to tell someone my story, write it down.
It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized just how common my situation was, how bluntly normal it really could be. I wasn’t the first to have gone through it, nor the last person who will. Hence writing this tale down, so that maybe people will see that they aren’t alone as they think they are. For certainly while this happened to me; I felt alienated, lonesome, confused, and unstable.
It is exactly eighteen minutes after midnight that I began to force myself into the pain of writing this down, the agony of seeing the truth so bluntly written on paper, the anguish of seeing the words I would never have thought to be able to speak to any other person.
For you see, I was had caught myself in a relationship where I was used for my body, and not for the sake of my heart. I am only fifteen, turning sixteen on June 5th and I freely say that I am already ashamed of who I have become.
He was beautiful.
He had bright blue eyes edged in green that always seemed to be smiling. His oval face was blazoned with freckles, seemingly carelessly placed over the bridge of his nose by a talented artist. His eyebrows were arched just so, giving him the continuous feeling of happiness, and his short orange hair would curl almost serenely around his ears. And when he would smile, his whole face would light up, his dazzling white teeth almost shining in the sunlight.
He was seventeen.
He was about to go off to school in a year and he had dreams of going overseas, to Brighton University, or the University of Edinburgh. He was going to go into business, or even international commerce. He seemed so smart, so intelligent, and so wise.
Lastly, he was from a different world then I was.
His family was rich, owning an international construction firm. He went to a private school, in the centre of the city. It was well acclaimed for and was known for its many different culture students and the high price of admittance.
I was still a fifteen year old girl then, of the middle class. During the summer we had moved into the city from the countryside, and I attended one of the many Catholic High Schools. I wasn’t very tall then, nor am I now. I am not even that pretty; my eyebrows much too grown in, my nose too large, acne problems. But apparently it was my eyes that drew him in; large, dark, and brown.
We met at an end of summer vacation party. He apparently knew my sister and my sister’s friend who were three years older then me. I already had a few drinks by the time he and his friend showed up, and it seemed to have given me liquid courage.
I was first actually drawn to his friend; with his friendly attitude, large smile, and blonde curly hair. I talked to them about their school, their lives, and their friends. Every answer they gave encouraged me more. Soon I was boisterous, not shy at all, trying to impress these good looking rich kids.
They had to leave within the hour though, their parents giving them strict orders for them to be back before eleven. As they left, I bade my farewells from the door watching them hobble into their bright red sports car. I told them to add me on facebook.
And they did.
The next morning I found I had the two new requests, and I accepted them both soon to find out that the blonde was in a committed relationship with a girl from Germany. I was disappointed until I heard the familiar blip of receiving a message from the facebook chat. It was from the red haired one that I didn’t really take much notice of. For the sake of confidentiality, we shall call him Jacob.
He started talking to me, and we conversed; he learned I was going into grade ten and him into grade twelve. We exchanged cell numbers and started texting. I wish I would have noticed right then and there that something was off. Right from the beginning, it seemed like he was looking for a relationship and because I didn’t say anything to his hints, he started pressing forward into questioning me. He started asking me things like my bra size, how far I had gone with other guys, and yes, I did feel uncomfortable but I answered anyways thinking; ‘He is a guy. He sounds like a good person. He is good looking and rich. Why not just go with it?’
I should have listened to my gut feelings on that.
After only two weeks, we were dating. September 12th, 2010. That first week felt like I was living off a high. It was so marvellous, so exciting. Everything seemed so new, so fresh, I was overwhelmed with happiness. But that was soon ended.
September 18th 2010; he treated me to dinner and a movie. We went to Boston Pizza and had pizza and wings. At seven thirty we went to go see the movie The Town. We sat in the back corner of the theatre, me sitting in the seat right beside the wall.
Twenty minutes in he kissed me.
Twenty-five minutes in we were making out.
In five more minutes, he had his hand up my shirt, my bra undone, and he was fondling my breasts.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to push him away. I didn’t want to ruin this elevated bliss I had felt all week. I was scared that if I told him no, he would not want to date me and our relationship would end premature.
But then he undid the button on my jeans and his hand was reached down into my pants.
I put up with his constant groping, touching, feeling. I loved the feeling of being the only girl in my group of friends who was in a relationship. I couldn’t risk losing that by telling him no. I couldn’t push him away just like that. And it wasn’t that bad. I only saw him twice a week, on Wednesdays and on the weekends, usually a Saturday. The rest it was innocent texting, friendly flirting. I would be happy once more as soon as he left.
I didn’t tell him he was hurting me, physically and emotionally. He was rough with me; poking, prodding, squeezing. I bit back tears and he thought I was enjoying it. I knew it was wrong, and for some odd reason, I couldn’t force him away.
But it wasn’t all that bad. He would listen to my problems, comfort me when I got in a fight with my mom, and give me advice with my friend drama. He was kind to me. He gave me someone to talk to, someone who would listen to my problems. He would wrap his arms around me and I would feel safe again, as if nothing could harm me. It was moments like those that would chase away the feelings that it was wrong. He would smile and almost instantly it would make me feel better.
October 31st 2010. It was Halloween and a Sunday. My parents were gone to a party, but they allowed me to have Jacob over. Jacob and I hid out in the basement, watching cheesy movies and running upstairs to hand out candy when ever kids came by. After watching the thriller American Psycho, he turned to me and asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. I said sure.
After making sure my sister was alright with handing out the candy, we left. We walked all the way to the Municipal Beach hand in hand. The waves were gently crashing up against the shore, the moonlight gently illuminating the night making it seem almost magical. It was a bit chilly, and I was glad to have the excuse to have his arm around me. We sat down by a tree at the edge of the beach, looking at the stars. Across the lake we could see Toronto, with its lit-up skyline. It felt like we were the only ones in the world.
But all that changed suddenly.
He pulled off my pants, opened my legs and started to feel around some more. I didn’t stop him. I felt so dirty, so used, so cheap, and yet I just let him continue. He started to move around inside; roughly, briskly, painfully. I nearly cried out in the pain. Yet I wouldn’t tell him to stop.
After a couple minutes he withdrew, blood on his fingers; the crimson glistening so coherently in the moonlight.
I nearly started to cry as I pulled my pants back on. I was about to go, but he had something else in mind.
He pulled out his prick and he gestured me forward. I instantly knew what he wanted.
“Jenna, come here,” he breathed, his face contoured by shadows.
I dragged myself towards him, wishing I could be anywhere but right there at that moment. I longed to be safe once more at my house, watching silly movies, wishing none of this had happened.
As he suggested, I took him in my mouth and he held my head there as he moved back and forth. I kept choking and gagging, and just want to recoil away from him, but he was above me, and so strong. This time I did cry though he kept going until he was done. He took me in his arms afterwards and told me, everything was going to be alright.
Somehow, amongst all of this, I found myself needing him, depending on him. I would find myself waiting for his text messages, searching for his name when ever I checked my e-mails or my missed calls. It was about mid-November that I seemed to convince myself that I loved him.
He began telling me he wanted sex around the same time. Unfortunately, I got really sick. I have always had mild problems with my mal-formed liver. At random points in my life, it got bad while others it seemed like there was no problem at all but the memories of the relapses. The familiar pains and loss of appetite returned once more and I was in horrible condition for close to four weeks. I didn’t see him once in that long period. We would talk on occasion over Skype, or text messages but our conversations were never long. I thought the end was coming there, and for some odd reason I wanted to prevent that from happening.
I kept telling myself he would change, that he would get bored of this and figure out that I wasn’t just someone for these urges; that I was a person he could learn to love. I felt myself telling myself that I could be the one to change it, to turn it around, that with the right encouragement, he would realize just what I was going through.
I felt so alone at this moment, for there was no one I could talk to about any of this, thinking I would be called a slut, a whore, a slag. I locked all this inside of me, bottled up and hidden under lock of key.
A week before Christmas, I finally saw him again after that extended period of being sick. We went Christmas shopping together, and his warm smile and tender hugs made me put that distress out of my mind; that nagging feeling of not belonging. He would tell me I was beautiful, he would caress the side of my face, and then he would kiss me. And I would forget about absolutely everything.
Bliss once more.
I got a bracelet for Christmas from him, a small wire thing with alternating light grey and dark grey pearl like beads each separated by a gently swirling strand of silver. He told me he saw it and thought of me, for I would always wear these odd pieces of jewellery and I never wore bracelets. I loved it, and wore it everyday.
We spent New Years together at his house for his family was hosting a James Bond Casino Royale party. Everyone was dressed up in suit and tie, the women in beautiful evening gowns.
It was raining, and when he greeted me at the door, I was soaking wet having not had an umbrella. But I soon forgot about that because there he was in all his glory, handsome as the devil. I was at a loss for words, and calmed my nerves by reaching up and straightening his bow-tie. He just looked at me with a tender smile, rapped his arm around me, and brought me inside.
The night felt like a dream. Everything was so perfect, so happy. They had people catering and cooking for them, and when you went downstairs they had set up slot machines and poker tables. After dinner, we were all rushed outside for the most marvellous set of fireworks I had ever seen. Jacob had taken off his jacket and put it over my shoulders, hugging me close.
Midnight came and amongst all the cheering and hugging, Jacob had pulled me into a tight embrace once more and gave me one of those kisses that make your world melt around you. I was so happy, so content with life that I thought life would never get better.
But it wasn’t long lasted. When all the adults were settled in again, talking to each other, Jacob grabbed my hand and led me upstairs down a hallway I had never gone down before. He opened a door and pushed me inside. Flicking on the light quickly I realized just where I was, his bedroom. Before I could say anything he picked me up and laid me on the bed, were he sat beside me and kissed me again, more feverishly. I didn’t want this. I was scared. When he reached up the skirt of my dress, I recoiled away from him and off the bed where he looked at me in confusion, his red hair bedraggled.
“Jenna, what is wrong?”
I looked at him; eyes widened and just shook my head. “I can’t do this.”
He sat there in silence for a few moments staring at me, looking directly into my eyes. His jaw clenched and he merely nodded his head, giving in. I left the room without saying another word and slipped into a bathroom where I called my mother and told her to come by and pick me up.
She was there in twenty minutes and in those twenty minutes I strayed away from him, not knowing what was going through his mind. I had rejected his advances and I knew for sure that he would be a bit insulted. When my mom showed up, he merely waved good-bye and I departed.
The next two weeks passed with both of us not bringing up what had happened New Years Eve. I felt guilty, so when ever we saw each other and he would reach down into my pants or draw my hands towards his instrument, I wouldn’t push him away and I would simply accept it even though I was scared every single time. I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if it was wrong, but I found myself in the familiar position in being not able to push him away.
January 19th 2011. His birthday. He finally turned eighteen. His mom and dad had gone down to Florida for a week, and were to be coming back on the 22nd. So on that Wednesday he came over to my house, and celebrated it with my family. We stayed upstairs with my family even though he kept hinting that he wanted to be alone downstairs. It went by without the usual happenings. When he left I knew he was disappointed, but I couldn’t help but sigh a breath of relief.
January 22nd 2011. He had a bunch of friends go out with him to a restaurant for his birthday, I was invited. I knew none of them and they were friendly enough, though most of the night I spent in silence. Even though I sat beside him, I couldn’t engage him in conversation. It was then that I realized that I had never been able to truly have a good conversation with him. It was always that small dribble that never meant anything and was never quite memorable. It was then that I realized the longest conversations we had had was to deal with sexual origins.
That night, the bracelet that he gave me for Christmas suddenly broke; the wire having worn down in an area and suddenly fallen a part. I laid it on the table thinking that maybe I could fix it eventually, but I was still shaken from the realization I had just had. My mom soon called and said she was here to pick me up. I quickly rushed to put my coat on and my scarf, accidentally knocking the bracelet onto the ground where the beads all fell off. I hurried grabbed a handful and stuffed them in my purse. I quickly pecked him good-bye and left.
You see, love is a tricky thing. It is never what you expect it to be, and sometimes the places were you find it are the places you don’t expect it to be, and other times it is not in the places where you wish your whole heart for it to be.
It is easy to imagine love, to forge it to hide the reality and the truth. It is easy to claim that it has swept you off your feet when really it is just you trying to convince yourself that it did. In this case, I had fallen in love with the idea of who he could be and not who he was.
That night, I cried. I had finally realized what I had become, what I had done, and that what I believed true was actually. I had finally become the person I had always promised myself never to become, the one who was taken advantage by the guys, the one that would give them what they want just because they told you they loved you. I had done things I still regret with all my heart. I had let him take away my innocence, my childhood. And I had believed that he loved me and that I loved him and learned that it wasn’t the case. I was only there to be used, to be seen as the girlfriend, as bragging rights. I had deceived myself until this last and final moment.
And it broke my heart.
That next day I sent him a message, saying that we needed to talk, and at 9:26 at night, he went on Skype and asked me what was up.
“I had these thoughts before, like when we first started going out, but I kind of pushed them away, but they somehow kind of surfaced again,” I said avoiding the main point of the matter, trying ease into the idea of what I was planning on doing.
“Tell me,” was all he said.
“Sometimes it kind of only seems the reason you are in this relationship is for like well, sexual reasons-ish, and I don’t know,” I stated quickly, getting directly to the point after mustering the courage. “I get this odd nagging feeling that that is all you kind of really want unfortunately.”
Instantly he responded; ‘No, that is not true. Just you will have to lose your virginity eventually right?” He spoke this with a small smile. “After all, I don’t want a jerk taking advantage of you.”
“You are going off to university in a few months.”
“Yah, I know. I was planning on talking to you about this eventually. I don’t think a long distance relationship would work out well between us.”
I couldn’t help but feel my heart drop a little, so I slowly responded; “Yah, I don’t think I would be able to handle a long distance relationship very well anyways because I’ve learned I am a very worrisome person.
“The problem though is right now, I actually really care for you and unfortunately, I know it isn’t mutual. Don’t even try to say it is because I know and I keep thinking about this whole situation, and it kind of makes me sad. I don’t know.”
My voice gave out near the end, feeling the truth of them. I knew that I loved him. I knew that the love shouldn’t be deserved, but I felt it, and I felt the pain in saying those words. I felt the familiar tingling of tears building up and I couldn’t help but get angry at myself. He didn’t deserve tears.
He didn’t deny them. I prayed to God that he would simply deny the accusation in those words, that he would tell me he loved me with all his heart, that I was mistaken. I wanted him to tell me everything was alright, apologize. Instead he merely told me; ‘I agree.’
To hide the horrible defeated feeling I had, I continued:
“Last night, I realized that we aren’t capable of having a full conversation with each other at all. The longest ones we ever had usually involve some form of sexual piece to it and that’s what I believe this relationship is only running off of, lust. It’s not about liking the actual people, or so it seems. I like you for who you are, but it feels to me, that you are eighteen, ‘bout to go off to university and are running hormones galore, and I don’t know…” I trailed off at the end, longing for him to contradict what I was saying, to claim he loved me for who I was, that I was smart, funny, something, anything but the endearing silence.
“I see where you are coming from. I understand if you want to end it right now, if you just want to say good bye. I like being with you. Thank you for putting up with me for the last four months,” I heard something in his voice, something that sounded almost like painful defeat, and I longed to be with him, to wrap my arms around him. He looked so sad at this moment, so solemn.
Instantly I denied his comment; “No! It’s nothing like that at all. It wasn't putting up with you at all. I enjoy being with you and that is why I’m like tearing up right now because I don't know what to do. I get this stupid feeling that you aren’t in this for this so called love, but like I don’t want it to end because, well, I don’t know! It’s a stupid endless loop going around in my mind right now.”
“Well, let’s take a break. Leave it for a week. See if you still have feelings for me.”
“But thing is I know I have feelings for you, and I know they wont so easily go away! That is what I’m trying to get at this whole time! It’s not like I’m losing feelings for you. It’s that I’m scared because I’m getting more and you don’t have the same feelings.”
It settled into silence for a moment. I was crying then, more like bawling. The last paragraph I had to choke through tears. I was torn. I knew that this was what I wanted to do and yet, I longed to just keep the relationship going, to live with it. But he said it himself; we were going to end it before he went off to university anyways.
He spoke up in a quiet voice; “It’s up to you. I want you to be happy. Do what you think is best.”
I looked at him once more. It wasn’t the same through a computer screen. I began to notice the little things, his forehead a bit too big, eyes a little too close together, nose a bit too small. And his once beautiful smile was not there any more. I wished to see it just one more time, but I knew I wouldn’t. I spoke the next words softly.
“I love you. I think I really do, and for that I reason I think this should be the end, before it becomes any worse and harder to do.”
And that was the end of it.
It is now fifteen minutes until three in the morning, and I have finally come to the conclusion of this tale. Today is January 25th 2011, and I have come to realize the truth of the matter. This can happen to anyone, for some it may be harder, others easier, for some, they might still be in this hard circumstance. I am not one to judge, but one to say that you are not alone. I am the one to tell you to try not to hate yourself for others have fallen into the exact place as you have.
The one thing I regret the most was having not told anyone, for maybe then, I would have learned sooner that this wasn’t right for me to be giving myself up like that, to be falling prey to sexual clauses. But you can’t change the past. Though certainly, you can shape the future.
I have learned one main thing through this experience, and that is that when you look at a relationship, it may appear to be perfect; friendly smiles, tender kisses, but that is not usually the truth of the matter. Everyone has their secrets they hide, some more painful than others and to be honest, I believe that nobody should go through these things alone.
Many things can be mistaken for love, and sometimes love may not seem like it is worth looking for anymore. In this case, I disagree. You will never find love without any mishaps of the heart, but once you do, it is miraculous. One day, I hope to forget all that has happened, to put it behind me, and I hope I will find actual love one day. But then again, this quite simply might be the musings and fantasies of a fifteen year-old girl.
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Thanks for reading, and I would love to hear some input.
~Incognito
