something Unorthodox

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I was never the romance type.

Never expected to be anyway. But something changed and I couldn't change it back. The feeling of it remained and ate me out from the inside, tempting me to put pen to paper and write out all of my feelings that I hope to get published someday (out of unrealistic dreams).

          The first time I experienced this rare purity called love, I was twelve and hardly over the puberty phase. No, it wasn't for an iPod or a doll or whatever you associated with twelve year olds. It was for an actual breathing boy. Not just a crush, either. He was into me too. My expected reaction from whoever is reading this: How the fuck could a twelve year old know about love?

          Now, I assure you, no matter how old you are, you feel things. Emotions, really. They develop from the basic emotions such as fear, joy, sadness and anger to more complex emotions over time, and with a little help from hormones that are released during puberty.

          Anyways, during those years I was part of a drama group and we competed in this event against other groups. It was a fairly small competition, in a small venue. Resulting in all groups participating using the same dressing room, taking turns of course. After my group performed, we were packing up our belongings when this other group entered to begin unpacking. Everyone in that group was dressed similarly, like uniforms with their black tee shirts and black slacks. They made our group look like amateurs. Out of the swarm of uniformed figures, one boy in particular, by the name of Micah Rogers caught my attention. Or maybe it was the other way around considering he walked the perimeter of the dressing room just to bump into me, to apologize and then 'catch my name' which he apparently didn't catch before (I didn't throw it, by the way).

         He was sixteen at the time, not much taller than me but his voice was overwhelmingly low. It was similar to Louis Armstrong when I think about it now. He had a creamy caramel complexion and his hair was as curly and soft as mine. We eventually exchanged Facebook names and began speaking around three days later where conversation had evolved and after about a few months we had developed a relationship. My first real relationship. Everything he did, he did it with such grace. Everything he said was like music to my ears.

"You're so beautiful."

"I'm so glad to have a girl like you"

And all the other sappy shit that turned my brown cheeks red. He was a real charmer, I must say. Not only was he charming to me, he was charming to older women, younger girls, females his age. Everyone. Nine months into the relationship, was when problems began to arise. The first thing to happen that set everything off track was that he had a friend. Kacy, I think they called her. They were 'friends' but yet still they were making out in the back of her mother's car coming from God knows where. Then, he went off to get high with his friend and ended up receiving a blowjob from his ex.

            I never had to find out these things from any other sources but him.  He actually told me these things face to face and he only did this because he wanted a "secret free" relationship. Funny thing is, I stayed through the bullshit. I was barely thirteen during this time but had enough to see all these actions had no sort of follow up remorse. We broke it off initially because of him complaining about the 'distance' between us but we got back together two days later. We reunited when he messaged me telling me all about how he'd never do it again, and I believed him.

              That's the thing, all through these experiences my feelings hadn't faltered. My admiration and affection for him was all the same. I was willing to forgive and forget. I would've done practically anything for him (Except lose my virginity. My morals were still worth something). During all that time, I had never been interested in anyone else but him. All of my attention was directed to him and him only, although his actions hurt me dearly.

           After ten months of that relationship, we had officially broken up with no intentions of getting back together. I had refused to acknowledge any of his attempts to win me over. Yeah, me coming to my senses at thirteen, iconic. So that was that. It was over, and I felt empty. He was gone and there was no one to flatter me. I had too much memories with him to forget what loneliness felt like. I had decided I needed something to fill me again, something to occupy me. I hadn't really grasped on if I loved him, or if I was in love; because just like life, love was what you made it. No one experiences love in the same way.

                 The whole situation left me feeling as if I wasn't worth anything. As though I didn't deserve to be breathing in something that sustained me; I was stealing oxygen. I still needed something to make me feel whole again, but I didn't want that feeling of love so easily.

Not after what it led to the first time.