Can of Worms

Okay, so apparently all I needed to light a fire under my ass was to just start telling a story. So, Asshole Boyfriend. Yeah.

He called, I was excited, yada yada yada. He said all the right things and asked me out. I. cannot. remember. our. first. date. I remember the before. I remember being extremely nervous and trying to watch for him out of my seventh story window. He arrived, and we went...somewhere. No clue. Cannot pull it up for the life of me. Cannot remember our first kiss. Although I know we kissed that night. It is gone.

I do remember him telling me that he was going home that weekend for his birthday. Now that I type that I can't remember specifically what day his birthday is!! Geez, my memory is TERRIBLE!!! That weekend was Labor Day weekend, and I went home a bit but back to school shortly after learning that my curfew was still in effect.

That Monday, I was thrilled when he called again and wanted to take me out to eat. I remember this specifically because I had eaten a bowl of ravioli, and yet I let him take me to Appleby's where I ate chicken fingers. I am disgusted with myself even now. One of his friends tagged along that night, it was casual. I remember when AB dropped me off that night him getting on to me about liking his friend more than I liked him. I did not like the way that made me feel. I ignored it and assured him that of course I liked him more. It was all downhill from there.

I'm pretty sure that it was only three weeks later that we were engaged. He stood in the parking lot of his fraternity house and told me that 'when you find the person you want to spend forever with, you want forever to start right now.' I was wrapped up completely. And let me stop here and interject: I knew all along that this was against my grain. But I was eighteen. I really felt that when I loved someone, that would be the only person in my life that I would love and it would all be a neat little fairy tale. I remember the first time I told him that I loved him. I had to force myself to say it. I wanted it to be true, but deep down I knew it wasn't. But I digress, so the engagement, got a ring, freaked the hell out of everyone, not the least of which were my parents, I'm sure.

I wanted to wait until we were married to have sex. I told him that and he agreed. But somehow, he kept pressuring me to do it. Finally, around week 5 of our relationship, I sprained my ankle. Bad. He took care of me, took me to the clinic, did everything I needed. I was weak. He was caring. I gave in. I haven't reflected on this, maybe ever, but I HAD A SPRAINED ANKLE THE FIRST TIME I HAD SEX. It was awful. And, although I wouldn't have admitted it then, I felt damaged. I was the living embodiment of making my bed and having to lie in it.

And, with that, I have to take a break. More to come.