If I’m being honest, there were warning signs. As much as I pretended to be shocked, I had known for a while that this was coming. No matter how much I could have anticipated it, however, the word “girlfriend” still hit like a fucking truck. I am many, many things, but a girlfriend isn’t one of them. And, if we’re being completely honest, I think I’m going through an existential crisis.
I should have done more to prevent this, but I was weak. It started off so innocent, The football team was having a party, and a group of us were deciding if it was worth walking to on a chilly fall night. One of my close friends, who decided to stay behind, burdened me with a very important task.
“I need you to sleep with one of the players.”
“I probably will.”
“No, like, specifically I need you to sleep with Kevin. He lives at the house.”
“What? Why?” I asked, intrigued by her sudden serious tone.
She explained how she had slept with Kevin a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, she accidentally left her favorite pair of underwear in his room. Since that night, she had started talking to another player on the team. She wasn’t exactly ready to tell her new sorta-talking boo thang about her sexual history, so she just did the mature thing and now pretends like she doesn’t even know Kevin. Obviously returning to his room was a no-go, but she was desperate.
“He’s so your type. And I really, really want that underwear back,” she pleaded. I ultimately agreed to help seeing as I’m such a good friend.
Except not because who could have guess that drunk me set out on a mission would mix up the name of my target? The next morning, after I inconspicuously searched the room and came up empty handed, I relayed the bad news back to her. She once again referred to the panty thief as “Kevin,” to which I replied “you mean John” and then we discovered together that I had taken the wrong roommate to poundtown. It’s a modern day love story, I know.
I pride myself on always making the best of a bad situation. So yes, I slept with the wrong guy. But the sex was good so I figured there was no harm in going back for more. I’m not really one to keep my friends up to date on the randoms in my life, but the longer we hooked up, the more people naturally began to notice. I found out, about a month or two in, that he had a bit of a reputation for being an asshole who regularly ghosts girls for no reason. This was music to my ears, because, like, same.
Then things took a turn for the worst. He never ghosted. I started to notice that his teammates, who had always ignored me as I wandered out the front door in the mornings, started to acknowledge me. They suddenly became friendly and would do things like pick up wine for me on their beer runs without me having to ask.
Normally, this would be about the time I run away. But for whatever reason, I liked when he kissed me. I didn’t mind when we cuddled. In fact, one morning, as he left for 6am practice, I noticed I was upset. Not because he woke me up at 5:30 in the morning, but because he was leaving. Was I fucking psychopath?
I’ve had boyfriends before, but none that I have particularly liked. I was always considered the “chill” girlfriend because I didn’t stress about other girls, but the truth is I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I can honestly say that for all of my past boyfriends, I would have rather them cheat on me than have to suck their dicks myself. So this whole “emotionally invested” bullshit was scary and new. I didn’t want to care.
Until he introduced me as his girlfriend. Suddenly, I was angry that I wasn’t even consulted. I mean, yeah, I avoided that talk like the plague, but who the fuck did he think he was to just decide that? I knew that was what I wanted, but… that’s just, like, so offbrand of me. So that’s still where I am at now. Ugh, college relationships. 10/10 would not recommend..
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