The One that Consumed Me

I don’t know if it was the city or the guy, but I was changed in as little as eight months. Who would have thought I of all people would drop out of college, giving up a once in a lifetime opportunity that some people only dreamed of having? Well, excuse me. It wasn’t what I wanted to do. I’m all for getting an education, but not like that. Not when I could barely make it out of my bed or lift my tired arms to brush the knots from my hair because the other voice in me was too overwhelming. Please tell me one more time that I should have stayed when I called my mother at least three times a week crying my eyes out over shit I couldn’t understand. I knew I’d never make it, so I packed my shit and I ran. I’m good at running. Would have done it a long time ago if it weren’t for the sake of my mom.

So where exactly did I run to? I ended up in a tiny apartment just outside of a naval base in Virginia. I had never been out of my previous state before. There was something exhilarating about becoming unstuck from South Carolina. There’s absolutely nothing glorious about it. I wasn’t alone, even though I felt like it most times. It was a distant cousin who rescued me from the panic I was in. For eight months I lived with her and her new husband. Let’s not forget about B. B is what we’ll call him for sake of anonymity, he goes by a nickname anyways.

My first night in Virginia my cousin's husband decided to invite his best friend over. Not that he had to be invited, I mean he had a key and left his shoes all over the place, he practically lived there. Everyone decided it was bedtime. As I’m laying on the couch, this man comes over to me and decides we should... cuddle up. And I allowed it. B was sexy as fuck in his uniform, because of course, they had to be military men. I wanted to know what was underneath. I had been on one date before, kissed a couple guys, gave my V card to the first guy who wanted it, but I wasn’t experienced. I’m a very socially anxious and self-conscious person. I’m very sensitive and I make it a point to be aware. And believe me, I was aware of how his bare skin felt against my fingertips. I was more than aware, I was fascinated. Fascinated by the feel of the dark-skinned, muscular, and warm man underneath me. “What’s on your mind?” He asks. “Nothing,” I reply. “So you’re laying with a stranger right now and you have nothing on your mind?” I say, “correct.”

Nothing happened. We just slept. Well, he did. Over the course of those eight months, I apparently didn’t speak enough. I let him wrap his hands around my neck and pull my hair and tease me beyond what I should have been able to handle, but I didn’t talk to him. I had given up my secrets before and it was a lot easier to just hand over my body.

Something happened though. All that time not saying a word because I was so afraid of getting attached and there I went falling. Falling so hard so fast only for someone who would never feel the same way. I don’t live in Virginia anymore. I’ve talked to him but it’s all one-sided. He’s the only person in the entire universe I want to talk to but I’m quite sure he doesn’t care. So I’m sitting here writing this story about him, the story of how the first time he laid a hand on me I fell. I’m still falling and I don’t think I’ll ever reach the ground.

I will always love him. Yet he will never know the truth.