How Much He Hurt Me

I can’t understand why he did it. I suppose this is the problem between girls and boys, they are so fucking different, right down to the biology. But even still, why! Does it not cross his mind for a second how this might have impacted me? No. Clearly not.

I backtracked our friendship right to when it started, five years ago. I was sitting in the dingy art classroom doing a hideous painting of seashells. The radio was on in the background, there was occasional chatter between students but nothing exciting. I was new, just started at the school, and on Fridays, we were able to choose an activity in the afternoon instead of the normal three remaining classes. Friday afternoon activities they called it, it was a ‘pro’ on my list when I decided whether I wanted to move schools or not. For this term, I chose painting, it seemed a relaxing activity for the end of the week. I was in year ten, sitting close to another girl in my year who was also new. We were both slowly working away at our mediocre paintings. When a boy decided to talk to us, sitting further up the table, he was in the year above us, a year eleven. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I remember his face, a cheeky, handsome, warm face. It was the beginning of something. I saw him around school, but we generally only chatted during the painting class on Fridays. I would ask him about his job at McDonalds, and what crazy things people ordered. I never thought much of it, just my random afternoon chats with this boy and his friend.

The next year, I was involved in the backstage crew for the school musical, I was doing hair and makeup. A really fun task, because the musical was set in the eighties, meaning we got to go all out on costumes and design. He was in the musical playing a groom, and I’m sure most nights there was a show, I did his makeup and hair. I always enjoyed playing with his hair because he kept it on the longer side. This was also when I found out he was friends with a girl called Olivia. She was in the musical playing his bride. Olivia was in my year group; I’d gotten to know her in some of my classes. She and I definitely became closer when we were involved in the musical, we had a couple of sleepovers, hung out quite a bit and we even kissed when I said I’d never kissed a girl. She was the sort of person you felt like you could tell anything to, she was a great talker and very charismatic. One sleepover we were chatting, talking about boys and we each listed a few guys in our year group we liked, you know, boys we’d do stuff with, because sex was on everyone’s minds.

A few months down the track, I was stopped midway walking to class by a girl, and she informed me there was a rumour going around that I had a physical paper “fuck list” of boys in the year group. I was shocked. It took me a day or so to retrace the line of gossip, and it was Olivia. The sleepover had been so long ago I hadn’t even thought about it. What really got to me was that one of the boys on this list was someone I genuinely liked, and he’d been told about the list. I felt sick. I didn’t feel like going to school, I just wanted to hide, because it felt like everyone had been given this obsessive creepy image of me, writing down people I’d like to have sex with. Our conversation had been taken out of context, and even worse she’d shared something very personal, and I thought something you talked about in confidence, being friends and all.

My parents and I went to the head of students, so something could be done. I told the school what happened, and they told me justice would be served because this wasn’t right. Instead, another kid was made to apologise to me, a boy who had been present with my crush and Olivia, when she had first opened her mouth. I was grateful for an apology because he’d shared it on after hearing it, but where did he hear it from? I clearly didn’t tell him, he was an acquittance at best. My parents and I didn’t push, a couple weeks had passed, and it wasn’t worth it. We were near the end of year eleven, when people from our year group were being elected for leadership roles, a very exciting time. Olivia was elected prefect and house captain; two roles everyone and I would kill for. I worked out why they didn’t question her.

Around the same time, I was assisting in the backstage crew for the junior production, and chatting with a girl I was in drama class with. At some point during the night, she told me that my crush who was also in our drama class, had gone to the trouble of making sure we’d never be paired up for any assignments or class activities. When Olivia told this story about me, he found out he was at the top of the list. My heart sank. I didn’t say a word on the car ride home. I walked inside, put my bags down, went to the kitchen, discreetly took a knife, and sliced up my arm. I’ll never forget the look on my Mum’s face, nor the pain in her voice, it’s something I wish I could forget.

We still had year twelve to go, and I still had to see Olivia every day, I didn’t say anything more about it and was happy to make small talk with her. The boy from painting had finished school, but we kept in touch. I liked that we did, even though he was no longer at school every day, we became closer friends that year. He was doing a course in mechanics and had bought himself a silver commodore, a car I really liked. We caught up every now and then, we’d go out for a hoon or watch a movie. He also stayed good friends with Olivia, and I knew that he liked her, they always had a flirtatious friendship. I thought he was an idiot for liking her but overall, it didn’t bother me that much. I knew they kissed a couple times and nearly actually had sex, but he stopped it before they went too far.

I finished high school, and the small thought sat in the back of my mind that I didn’t think I’d make it to the end. I expected to be dead before high school finished. It was a bittersweet feeling. I’d made some lovely friends, and enjoyed most of the school work but some things really did get to me. I saw all of my family over Christmas and got into my university degree when the new year started. The boy and I still kept in touch, sending memes, chatting and going out. We were different in many ways, but it just seemed to work. We both liked cars, art, movies, and having a laugh. I neglected to mention we did kiss once while I was in year twelve, we decided to play truth or dare, and one thing led to another as the game hyped up. I think the kiss meant a lot to each of us, more than we realised.

The year continued on, and along the way, something changed for me. I really, really liked him. I loved our friendship, and I just wanted to be around him all the time, I missed his company when he wasn’t near me. So, one day, after we went to the movies, I said to him “You remember the kiss last year, well,” I fumbled trying to find my words, “I wondered if you would be interested in something more with us?”

My heart was pounding, and I felt sick, but a good sick, the butterflies were buzzing around inside me, as I waited for his answer. He didn’t look at me initially, he looked surprised but then smiled. And in more words or less, he said “Yes.”

Over the next couple of months, magic blossomed between us, I had never truly been happier. I felt at home in his arms, safe in his touch and never wanted to leave. I was eighteen, him nineteen. We both had our licenses, lived about ten minutes apart, and saw each other as much as we could. We had the most amazing conversations, talked for hours on end about our interests, and histories and we each slowly let it be known to each other, that there had been something between us for a long time, except neither of us had really acted on it. I was still a virgin; he had lost his to a one-night stand after finishing school. We waited until I felt ready, I wasn’t in a rush, as it was something I got really anxious about. But eventually, I wanted to give myself to him, to be as close as I could to him. I felt love that night, I knew I wanted to be with this man forever. He was gentle, kind and loving. I won’t go into the details of my first time, but I had fun, we had fun together.

We were in a bubble of love, looking to the outside together. Our love grew, as we said it to one another, met each other’s families, and it became known to our social groups. It seems a blur of a bubble now, how wrapped up in the moment we both were. When we began to settle into our relationship, I loved knowing it was going somewhere. I would plan dates for us, and make him gifts of drawings or food. I got invited to his family events and him to mine. Then it came up, Olivia was back in town, as she’d been away studying, and wanted to catch up with him. He asked my permission, which I told him he didn’t need my permission, I trusted him alone with her. I didn’t like her, but I respected that they were friends. I think it’s healthy to have male and female friends.

One day we were both at work, I was driving home, and he called me, a very welcomed surprise. I held my breath as he told me he was in a car crash at work, a truck had gone into a car he was test driving. The crash had been his fault, and thankfully he only had severe whiplash. His neck was quite sore, and I drove him to his work the next day so he could drive his own car home. I did everything I could to help him and try to make him feel better. For a week or so, he didn’t want me around as much, which I didn’t enjoy but I understood, so I gave him some space. But it seemed to keep growing, that space between us, something had changed, I don’t know how or why, he just felt more distant in his messages and when we saw each other.

I’ve always been an anxious person. I’m very loyal and hate it when I’ve upset someone I care about. Late one evening, it got quite overwhelming, so I asked if I could come over to see him. I hugged him as hard as I could and started crying. He reassured me everything was okay, and I felt safe again. And I wish I knew it was, but that was the last time we had sex. I remember that was the most passionately I’d ever kissed him, made love to him, I needed him to know I loved him with all my heart, I was his. Even after that night, it still felt off, and it tugged my brain. I was scared but I hated not communicating and telling him how I felt, being honest was very important. I said to him “I don’t know much we have in common.” Which wasn’t true, we had plenty in common, and plenty not, as everyone does. I wish I had rephrased myself or just not said it at all.

Four days later, he broke up with me. My words had eaten him up, and he didn’t see us going any further. He told me, “I think I was in love with the idea of love.” I remember agreeing with him that he was doing something I was too scared to do, which wasn’t true. I cried and begged him not to leave me. He held me in his arms as we sat together for the last time on a park bench. I didn’t want to leave or go home. He was my one. He kissed me goodbye, with a sentimental smile and he left. I felt numb when I walked inside, I told my parents we were finished, and I went silently to my room.

The hours rolled by, and I couldn’t sleep, I had a small drink of vodka and wandered outside, it was about 1am. I started running, took only my phone with me and just ran. No shoes, and only the moonlight. I walked and walked and walked and walked and wailed. I didn’t care if a car hit me in the dark, I was almost wishing for it. Eventually, my feet felt like they were going to bleed, I stopped, called my parents and wiped my eyes. I had run and walked for nearly eight kilometres.

The next month was a fuzz of finding a reason to get up in the morning. I messaged him a couple of times when I got really low, as we'd agreed we’d stay in touch. It was nearly Christmas, and originally, we’d planned to do gingerbread houses together, I still wanted to do that, so I invited a mutual friend of ours to make it easier for both of us. It was never going to bed easy, but it was a pleasant enough afternoon, I gave him his present which I’d bought a few months in advance, two comedy show tickets and a thoughtful letter. I wanted to say, what I wanted to say, I couldn’t go without saying nothing. I was true to myself, wrote it with no malicious intent and put a few personal jokes of ours in there to keep it as light-hearted as I could. I wanted to make it work, as we’d been friends and known each other so long. He was my special person, and I didn’t want to lose him.

For New Year's Eve, I was away with my family, and I felt really uneasy that day. We’d been broken up just over a month, and he had made a point of being upset I wouldn’t be around for the new year countdown when you kiss. I was happy to be with my family, away in another country. As it ticked closer to midnight, and we all settled down for the night, I opened my social media and he had added to his story. I cautiously tapped his name, and up came a picture of him and Olivia. I felt physical pain, my heart squeezed and shrunk. I put down my phone and went discreetly to the bathroom, collapsed onto the floor. I don’t remember much else. I know my parents came in, and asked me what had happened, but I couldn’t speak. I was crying and shaking so much I couldn’t see or breathe. That’s how much he hurt me, and I couldn’t understand why.