The exchange

Doughnuts and one hot guy, at your service

Side note: Rosa, her brother, and the two brothers all obviously speak spanish when alone, so I'll just write it in english (which is supposed to be Norwegian but you're also imagining that) and you can all pretend it's spanish because i'm too lazy to traduce all the dialogue. enjoy using your ✨imagination✨ mis amores!

9: 10 am

I wish I could say that I woke up refreshed, rejuvenated, renewed, changed, improved. But the truth is something I'm not proud about.

The truth is I didn't want to get out of bed. The truth is I rested my forehead in the shower wall as the water poured over me. The truth is today I am the type of person that sighs ever so quietly.

I feel disgusting. I scrap at my body with soap until my arms start scratching. I find a way to get angry about their red, blotchy color as if it had not been my own doing.

I feel pathetic. I stayed up half the night looking at the ceiling and cursing him and myself, and even though she's not to blame, I am ashamed to admit I did curse her as well. I hate to say she is the girl a part of me wishes I was: she's confident, sexy, thin, stylish, and actually enjoys partying around. She's the type of girl guys always try to get with, the one who randomly gets asked for her number while she's grocery shopping. She gets invited to every party and shows up looking like Paris Hilton. My mother used to say Paris Hilton was a good for nothing, but the truth is that it looked like so much fun to be her: so superficial and materialistic and fun. I wished I was not myself sometimes, so definitely not her. Not petite, or perfectly thin, or comfortably social. I find solace in thinking that I was smarter than her, destined to be a successful businesswoman that brought my family's company  to an even higher level, while she'd be a trophy wife or a model discarded after her beauty ran out, and I hated myself for it. Hell, this girl could find the cure to cancer and I was labeling as a dumb blonde. And all for a stupid boy who was so definitely not worth it.

I feel angry. It's taking so much energy from my sleep deprived body to move itself, to smile, to not snap, to pretend that everything is okay (which it is and it isn't all at the same time).

The worst part of all is that I can't show it. My guests don't know I was on a date. And, after what just happened, I don't want them to know, ever. They'd all beat him up and then the penetrators would show up and beat them up. And then we'd all be hurt, which doesn't sound that terribly unappealing in my current mood even though I know it's wrong and would only make me feel worse.

I feel cheated on, which sucks, because I wasn't. In order for you to be betrayed, you have to be something. And him and I were pretty much nothing. Yes, we kissed. Yes, we went on one (1) date. Yes, we told each other we liked each other. But maybe it all meant absolutely nothing. Maybe I'm not as smart and intuitive as I prided myself to be, because I really thought he was genuine.

But then maybe I was cheated on. Because he did purposefully create the illusion of a would be relationship. He made promises. And he broke them. So, in that sense, yes, I did get cheated on.

But maybe it doesn't matter. Because the shame is on me, even if my only fault was to trust him. He fooled me and that shows his malice and my naivety like a two faced coin. I fell in his games and he played them. He probably won a bet or something, like those assholes from the movies.

I don't want to tell absolutely anyone about it. I want it to not have ever happened. I want to be able to say that I came out unscathed from his multiple attempts of terrorism.

"Yeah, he tried," I'd say, "but he never succeeded."

All I can be proud of as of yet is that he never took me to bed. At least I still remain untouched by him. And I hate to think that for so many girls that felt this way, I am one of the very lucky ones.