Love is a Losing Game

I always told myself that, if anyone ever screwed me over, they were dead to me.

  Of course, there was a time before the ‘always.’ A time when betrayal was an opportunity for me to hand out second chances like the empathetic, kind-hearted person I was.

  My heart would grow stiff and heavy, a dull, persistent ache gnawing at my insides, slowly but torturously. I’d feel inclined to rip my heart out, not to stop feeling the pain, but to stop feeling. My body would slowly shut down, my ears filling with white noise, my brain offering flashes of every worst-case scenario at shutter speed. And then, the solution would arrive, as if laid on a silver platter.

  Forgive them. Simple as that. Forgive and forget. Be the bigger, better person. My emotional state rendered the solution far from simple, but being on the receiving end of betrayal meant the ball was in my court. I listened to the apologies, grand gestures of love and sorrow, and I knew I had a decision to make.

It started in high school, when I was fifteen. My parents were high school sweethearts, so the argument that high school love isn’t real never made any sense to me. I had living proof that it is real.

  His name was Brandon Holloway. A name forever etched into my heart, one I struggle to forget many years later. I should’ve known he was trouble the second he introduced himself. We were at a party, the first of many that year, and he approached me in the kitchen. They call me Brandon, he’d said, his stupid smile making me question, for a split second, if it was love at first sight. His left hand held an empty plastic cup, and his right hand was outstretched. I hesitantly shook it, conscious of my clammy hands.

  “I’m Quinn,” I said. “They call me Quinn,” I added, mockingly.

  Brandon laughed, revealing two perfect dimples in his cheeks. I took in his floppy brown hair, his dark eyelashes, and when he placed his cup down on the counter, I noticed the veins in his arms.

  I noticed the veins again, eight months later, when I gave him my virginity in his parent’s basement, the brown wooden floors appearing golden under the line of cheap, scented candles.

  “You’re my girl, Quinn. You’re the only girl I’ll ever love,” he said that night, a night clear as day. His eyes shone with the reflection of the swaying candles, the orange light casting an angelic glow on his face, accentuating his sharp jaw and deepening his dimples. He rested his head on his elbow, hoisting himself so he could look down at me. His veins were so visceral, so alluring.

  “Love?” My heart soared. His face broke into a smile of embarrassment, but transformed into one of certainty.

  “I love you Quinn. I love your brown eyes. I love your catatonic laugh. I love how red your cheeks get when you’re embarrassed, like right now.”

   I laughed, a loud, throaty laugh. I hoisted myself up to his level and leaned forward, whispering, “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.”

  He had asked me to be his girlfriend two months after we started dating, and we spent the next year stupidly planning out the rest of our lives. Our child would be named Sophie, after my mother, or Nathan, after Brandon’s former Basketball coach, who had passed away the year before. We’d honeymoon in Bali, or Paris, and then settle down somewhere quiet and safe, a closed-knit community for our child to grow up in. Brandon and I would both pursue journalism. I couldn’t hide my excitement when I learned that our roadmaps aligned so closely. He wanted to be a sports reporter, and I wanted to work in advertisement.

  Everything was perfect. Too good to be true.

Brandon and I lasted one year and five months. I had just turned seventeen when my best friend at the time, Jana, shattered my world with six pathetic words: “I’m sorry, I slept with Don.” Don? A nickname?

 They call him Brandon, but she calls him Don.

 I refused to believe her. She was my best friend, but Brandon was my boyfriend. The guy who I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

   A few years later, I squirmed at the thought of all of it – the candles, the profession of love, the senseless promises. It was all incredibly cliché. But still, my first love never left me. The worst part was, Brandon had no intention of ever telling me. He was furious at Jana for admitting their mistake, insisting that it was simply that: a mistake. Jana, her icy blue eyes brimming with tears, insisted that she cared about me, and that she felt I deserved to know the truth. But Brandon was perfectly OK with guarding their secret for the rest of our lives, and that detail never stopped bothering me. I tried my very best to do what my mother advised: Forget the memory, but never forget what it taught you.

  If it taught me anything, I failed to apply the lesson. Instead, I threw myself into the fire and watched myself burn. I listened to Brandon vent about his regrets, I watched him plead with sorrow, I considered his promise to be better, and eventually, I took him back. I gave him a second chance.

   I still struggle to identify the moment when we outgrew each other for good. I still lose myself down a rabbit-hole of self-blame and alternative scenarios, trying to find what went so wrong.

  And then, Brandon cheated again with Jana. And again, he promised to be better. And again, I took him back. I blamed Jana for ruining him, for burning my roadmap to the rest of my life. I cut her off for good, enamoured by my own strength, but I knew, deep down, that I was only delaying the inevitable.

  I cut Jana off, but Brandon never did.

  Four months later, Brandon threw it all away for good. Jana was pregnant, and Brandon couldn’t hide from the truth any longer. Everything we had dreamed of was snatched away the second he decided to be a good person, to be a good father. To be present. He and Jana decided to drop out of school and work full-time jobs before the baby arrived.

  “Where does that leave us?” I asked, my face flushed with tears, my breathing laboured. I had no energy left to express anger.

  Brandon refused to meet my eye. “In the past,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I have to be with Jana. This is my chance to be a good person, to right all my wrongs.”

  A surge of anger bubbled to the surface of my tongue. “You’ll never make this right,” I said, wiping away my last tear before turning away one last time, leaving my heart shattered on the floor.

I took half of my mother’s advice. I never forgot the memories, but I never forgot what they taught me either. Some people get over relationships by throwing themselves into new ones, but I chose a different path. I blocked Brandon on every possible social media, not wanting a single picture of his life to interrupt my healing. I switched off, barred myself from opening my heart up to anyone, and I buried myself in work.

  I graduated with a Journalism degree and instantly secured a job at for a well-renowned magazine. I moved to New York, worked my way up the ladder, and within three years, I was the youngest Advertising Executive the company had ever had. I was twenty-four and thriving.

  But still, my lucrative job and high reputation was never enough to fill the huge Brandon-shaped hole in my heart. I started going to bars, flirting with guys I had no interest in knowing, following them back to their grubby apartments and leaving them before they could ask me to stay for breakfast. Seven years later, and the lingering memory of the other path my life had promised still filled me with a sense of longing. I couldn’t help but wonder how Brandon’s life had turned out.

  I’d find myself flicking through every available sports channel just to see if Brandon had made it. A part of me longed to see him as a sports presenter, to know that he had pursued something we once fantasised about together, but the other, selfish part of me never wanted to see him achieve his dream. He had Jana, her long, slender frame and silky black hair. He had a child, maybe even two, and that was more than enough. Only a messed up world would reward him for screwing someone over. Unfortunately, the world was far from orderly.

I met Jeremy Glover in the lobby of the Hilton. Clean-shaven, broad shouldered, and blue-eyed, Jeremy could have easily been mistaken for Paul Walker. His baby blue shirt was so tight-fitting, I could almost see the full definition of his rock hard abs and his carefully constructed torso, as if carved meticulously by the Adonis – the Greek God of Beauty.

  My first thought was: he is way out of my league. My second thought was: oh my God, he’s looking at me. Oh my God, he’s coming over.

  “Quinn Davis?” He said, his hand outstretched. I shook it, nodding my head as I attempted to muster a few words.

  “That’s what they call me,” I said. I cringed, a flash of Brandon’s stupid smile throwing me off guard. “Sorry, I’m Quinn, is what I meant to say. They don’t call me anything.” I gestured to the hotel lobby, which, except for a greying man with wide-rimmed glasses and a red-haired lady frantically tapping away at her phone, was empty.

  Jeremy laughed, then introduced himself. “I’m Jeremy,” he said. “They sent me to speak to you about advertising for our company.”

  “Right,” I said, chuckling at his mockery. “You’re Mr. Glover.”

  “Jeremy is just fine.”

  “Jeremy it is, then.”

Jeremy and I had been dating for six months when he asked me to move in with him. I’d been sleeping at his place for so long; my own place had never been so tidy.

  “Quinn Davis,” he said one morning, as we cuddled on his sofa. “I can’t stand the thought of spending another night away from you. I want to see your beautiful face every morning for as long as you’ll let me. Move in with me, please.”

   “Yes,” I said, my cheeks burning, my heart leaping. My heart plunged a second later when Brandon’s face flashed in my mind. You’re my girl Quinn. You’re the only girl I’ll ever love.

  Jeremy stood up, took my hand, and lifted me into the air, cheering with excitement. My heart kept falling. My body went limp in his arms, regret washing over me like a wave.

  “Wait,” I said, urging Jeremy to put me down. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I take it back.”

  Jeremy’s face fell. “What?”

  “I…I just need time. Don’t you think it’s all too soon?”

  “It’s never too soon with the right person,” Jeremy said, with a hundred percent certainty.

  “You’re saying that now,” I said. “People change, Jer. I’m just not ready to commit to this.”

  Jeremy’s steely blue eyes darkened like a passing cloud concealing the bright, blue sky. “Commit to what? To us?”

  I blew out a rush of air, dread lurking in the pit of my stomach. “No, just to us moving in together. You know my history, Jer. You know I’m not ready for this.”

  “Your history, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean Brandon.”

  I nodded, watching as his face twisted and reddened. “Brandon Holloway,” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “The guy who screwed you over seven years ago. You were still in high school, Quinn. He threw away his life by getting a girl pregnant. If anything, you dodged a bullet. He’s probably stuck in a shitty hole of debt and struggling to make ends meet, and you’re still not over him. You’re still delaying your own happiness because of some high school sweetheart. That love wasn’t even real, Quinn. Get over it already.”

  I stood shock-still. My breathing slowed, my eyes stinging as I felt my heart deflate. Jeremy had a far away look on his face, as if he were reassessing his monologue, and then realisation hit him.

  “Quinn,” he said. “Quinn, I didn’t mean that.” He took my hands in his and fell to his knees, his face the picture of regret. “I swear, I didn’t mean that. I just…how long until I stop having to compete with this guy?”

  I swallowed, considering what to say next. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words left. Was Jeremy right? Was I still not over Brandon? Was our love not real? I thought about the past seven years. In between Brandon and Jeremy, there had been no one I could even fathom loving. I categorised almost everything as a red flag: Hair too long, eyes too flirty, voice too slimy, still lives with his mother. Brandon was all I knew, he was the only one I had to compare the others to, and in seven years, no one had come close to making me feel the way Brandon did. Until now.

  “Quinn?” Jeremy stood up, his tall frame towering over me. I shook away my thoughts and stared up into his glistening blue eyes.

  “I blocked Brandon, you know. I have no idea where he is right now, or what he’s doing. And sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if he and Jana stayed together, or if they fell apart as soon as reality kicked in. I think about their child, whether it’s a boy or girl, what he or she looks like. Maybe they had another child, and maybe they talk about how they always knew they were right for each other, and how I was just an obstacle they had to overcome.”

  Jeremy inhaled deeply, considering my words. “You blocked him from social media, Quinn. But I don’t think you ever blocked him from your heart.”

  I nodded, the tears falling freely now. “I know you think high school love is stupid, and a lesson to be learned. But, my parents met when they were sixteen and have been together since. Their love is so real.” I felt my lips quiver as Jeremy held my hands tighter. “I used to see it every day, Jer. Every morning, I’d find them sitting together at the dining table, their heads touching as they solved the crossword puzzle together. And when they’d tell me off for doing something stupid, they’d play Good Cop, Bad Cop, but they’d switch roles every time, like it was a game. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg. So, can you really blame me for planning out my whole future with my high school love?”

  Jeremy’s face softened. In that moment, the sincerity in his eyes appeared as deep as the ocean, the vast blue so full of life. “I’m sorry, Quinn, for saying that your love with Brandon was never real. I know it was, and I guess that scares me a little. Because I want you to feel that love again, and I want to be the one who makes you feel it. And I want you to know that my only obstacle is getting you to see you through my eyes. For you to see how much I truly love you.”

  “Jer…”

  “No, let me finish.” Jeremy looked at me intently. “You said ‘yes’ first, when I asked you to move in with me. And even though you took it back, you saying ‘yes’ speaks volumes. I can see that you’re struggling to swim in the deep end, and that’s OK. You don’t have to move in straight away, but you’ll never find love again if you don’t open your heart.”

  The air stood still. Jeremy’s breathing deepened along with my own, until we fell in sync, the room buzzing with tension. I watched the sunlight seep through the bay-window, casting golden rays on the opposite sofa, creating a warm and inviting glow. The view of New York City buzzed with life, the Empire State building basking in all its glory.

  Six months. Six solid months. My life was so different now, so full of promise. I thought about what Jeremy had said, about opening my heart. It scared me to death, but I knew he was right. 

  “I want to let you in,” I said, my words puncturing the air. “I want to move forward, to leave my past behind, but I’m terrified.”

  “I know,” Jeremy whispered.

  “How can I be sure that I won’t get hurt again?”

  Jeremy smiled. “Quinn, we’re adults. We’re messy people, we will have our ups and downs, but I’m so in love with you. All you have to do is trust me.”

  “I love you too.” The words left my mouth before I could process them. Those four words, so unfamiliar on my tongue, but in that moment, my heart lightened, as if a boulder had been lifted.

  Jeremy grinned. He pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged him back, our bodies beginning to sway gently.

  I pulled away first. “What if me moving in ruins what we have?”

  “You don’t have to move in until you’re ready.”

  “What if I’m ready?”

  “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t committed to anyone in seven years. What if I’m terrible at it?”

  Jeremy laughed, a real, genuine laugh. “Well,” he said, “I’m no genius, but you won’t get any answers by simply speculating.”

  I stared at him, confused. “What?”

  “What I’m saying is that,” he began, taking my hand and leading me to his bedroom. “You’ll never know unless you try.”