We all have a (few) guy(s) in our lives whom we’re just not allowed to talk to anymore. We set these rules in place for ourselves, because the boys we love have inadvertently ruined our lives, unbeknownst to them. Our best friends exist solely to enforce these rules, because without them, we’d be at the mercy of the boys we’re in hate with. (Un)fortunately, sometimes our gal pals are off tending to activities of their own, at which time, we disregard all common sense, give into temptation, and have a mental breakdown all the while.
I know they say that if you can’t tell your friends something, you probably shouldn’t do it, but that’s assuming you have normal friends. My friends are the most judgmental people alive, and I mean that with love. No, I don’t. My friends are bitches. Honestly, it was my mistake for painting Chris in such a negative light. They heard all the bad things I said about him, and he was an asshole sometimes, but they never saw the other side of him. He’s not all bad, and things are better now.
Besides, I’m an adult. I don’t need to follow a bunch of stupid rules because Melissa told me I couldn’t go over there. Whatever. I mean, I’m not even going to hook up with him. Ugh, yes, I am. This is probably a bad idea, but I already told him I’d come, so it’s too late now. I’ll just walk in there and tell him we’re JUST going to watch a movie. Or like, maybe I’ll cuddle with him. As friends. Friends snug. I cuddled with my little just this morning. It’s not weird. And now, it’s really too late. I was admittedly lying to myself before when I said it was too late, but now I’m in the car, and it’s actually too late. It would be physically impossible for me to turn around.
And honestly, whatever. I want to go. That’s the bottom line. I’m making my own decision right now, and I want to be there. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.
Fuck Melissa right now. Chris is great. I’m a little nervous, and I need some alcohol stat, but that just means it’s working. And by “it,” I mean my vagina. Look at him. He’s so hot. It’s seriously so nice to be held. It’s been so long since I’ve felt the touch of a man…besides last weekend, but that doesn’t really count, because I can’t remember that guy’s name. The point here is that I’m so happy that I’m even using gay phrases like “the touch of a man.” This is great. I’m going to pretend I don’t notice that his hand is on my boob, because all I wanted was to spend a night in his arms. Or a night on his dick. WHAT. No. I don’t want to do that. Yes, I do.
Okay, kissing is weird. But good weird? I can’t tell. I can’t deal with this. I may or may not be making a huge mistake right now. I’ve made so much progress, and now I’m dry humping on his futon. I don’t want to be thinking about this right now, I just want to be enjoying my stupid, stupid, STUPID moment. I need a refill of stupid. Where’s my drink?
My head is KILLING me. What did I do last night? Why am I staring at a poster of Kate Upton? Fuck. This is not my room. Did I have SEX with Chris? No. I’d definitely remember that. Right? No, I would. I look like hell. Oh my God, and I feel like hell.
Why am I such an idiot? I can’t even connect with the person who wanted to be here last night. What a snarky bitch she was. Acting as if she was literally powerless against letting this happen. For what? A night of attention? HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU. And I hear this is the worst way to make a guy like you, though I can’t know for sure. God, I’m such a slut. In love. I’m a slut in love. Do sluts fall in love? I think I remember hearing that sluts have feelings too, so it’s not outside the realm of possibilities. Why can’t I just respect myself a liiiittle bi — is that a hickey?! God dammit. How am I going to explain this? I’m going to be in so much trouble with Melissa. I’d almost be mad that she treats me like a child in this situation, but it’s only fitting because I ACT like a child. A dumb, slutty, attention-seeking child.
“Melissaaaaa. Don’t yell at me. I reek of shame, brought to me by way of Chris Lundy, and I need food now. Don’t tell anyone.”
“You’re such an asshole. I’m grabbing your flip flops and I’ll come pick you up.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I am. But I’m also hungry. And I also just left Jason’s house sooo…”