The Boundary: Serial Heartbreaker
Posted 11/10/2009 by Editor in Labels: amy kristen, bad days, knowing when you've lost, love, new author, new series, real, the boundary
by Amy Kristen
I simply couldn’t fight it. Every particle in my body was pulling me towards him: he drew me in with his eyes, his smile, his donut-scented jacket. I couldn’t say no, even though the angel on my shoulder was turning red in the face from screaming in my ear. I knew it was wrong. He had a girlfriend. She was far off in another city, but they had been together for four years. He loved her, a fact that he repeated to me frequently. But still, he pursued me fast and furiously, so much so that I could not send him away.
Our meeting was almost perfect, despite the fact that we were both in committed relationships at the time. We were working on a student film together, and on the first day of rehearsals the director asked the two of us to stand in for the actors. Before I even knew his hometown, I was hugging this boy, taking in his scent, marveling at the electricity passing between us as we embraced. We stayed in this position for a few minutes as the director paced around us, discussing shots set-ups with the cinematographer. He and I spoke in each other’s ears, and I was captivated; never before had I experienced such an intense physical attraction to a boy. Especially not my current boyfriend.
He and I became close friends. He was my confidant, and we took to sneaking off together during lulls in filming to go for long walks in the night air. I bared to him my soul, and he gave me back massages when I grew tired. I kept denying that there was anything going on between us, despite the fact that I’d broken up with my loser boyfriend and was an aching, lonely soul.
I met her once. He brought her to set one day, proudly showing her off. It was eerie how much she looked like me. Same frame, same curly hair, same glasses. Except she had a nice rack, whereas I am flat-chested. She was “beautiful,” as he described her. Her name was Anna.
I hated her.
She, in my opinion, was hideous - the ugliest, most deplorable female I had ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her, but instead chose to glare at her from across the room. Look how happy he is. Look how happy SHE is. I wanted to vomit, and then I wanted to take my clenched fist and ram it straight into the side of her ugly little head. I wanted to tear her apart. I wanted her to suffer.
Despite the fact that he had paraded his trophy girlfriend around in front of me, he would not leave me alone. And I was all too eager to push her out of my mind and let him in. He began to visit me at my apartment. It was always very innocent, at first. We would watch a movie. We would talk. And then he would tell me how beautiful I was.
I fell into his trap without thinking. Before I could reflect on my actions, we were holding hands. Then we were lying down in my bed, staring into each other’s eyes in awe. Then we were standing on my rooftop, underneath the sparkling stars, touching foreheads as I wished with all my heart for him to tell me he and his girlfriend were breaking up.
They weren’t breaking up. He loved her, he reminded me.
Then he began touching me, feeling me, sending shivers of sensation up and down my body. It was intoxicating, and I fell under his spell as he grabbed me and drew me to him. He kissed me, passionately (I’m wanted! I’m wanted! …my pathetically insecure mind exclaimed with glee), and then he leaned down and whispered in my ear, confirming all of my hopes: “I want you.”
I threw myself at him, gave him everything I could, desperate to prove how superior I was to that deplorable creature he called his girlfriend. Night after night I cast away all my reason and set out to complete my mission to make him forget her altogether.
We did not discuss the problem at all. Weeks went by, and he still had that vile little girl waiting for him in Irvine. Sometimes she would call while we were together. Part of me died every time.
Finally, he confessed to me that he had a history of cheating on his girlfriends. That girl I loathed, miles away? She had helped him cheat on his previous girlfriend. At one point in high school, he was sleeping with three different girls at the same time, without their knowledge. It figured: he was charming, talkative, wild with sex. The quintessential player.
One day, he came to my door, eyes ablaze. His stone gaze spoke of nothing but hatred. Quietly, he informed me that he had finally broken up with Anna, who he still deeply loved. And it was my fault.
I stayed with that boy. He had ensnared me so tightly that I could not let go, so I stayed by his side, even during the period of time when he could not look at me because I had caused him to cry. He cried when he broke up with her. He’s only ever cried three times in his entire life.
Months later, we were in the throes of happiness. We spent the long summer days together, building on that spark that drew us together. I envisioned my future with him, the darkness of the origins of our relationship fading into a dream. I was floating.
Then, one night, we were making love with more intensity than ever before. It was blissful and wonderful how close we had become, how deeply I loved him.
I told him so, and he replied, without pausing, without thinking: “I love you too, Anna.”
Our meeting was almost perfect, despite the fact that we were both in committed relationships at the time. We were working on a student film together, and on the first day of rehearsals the director asked the two of us to stand in for the actors. Before I even knew his hometown, I was hugging this boy, taking in his scent, marveling at the electricity passing between us as we embraced. We stayed in this position for a few minutes as the director paced around us, discussing shots set-ups with the cinematographer. He and I spoke in each other’s ears, and I was captivated; never before had I experienced such an intense physical attraction to a boy. Especially not my current boyfriend.
He and I became close friends. He was my confidant, and we took to sneaking off together during lulls in filming to go for long walks in the night air. I bared to him my soul, and he gave me back massages when I grew tired. I kept denying that there was anything going on between us, despite the fact that I’d broken up with my loser boyfriend and was an aching, lonely soul.
I met her once. He brought her to set one day, proudly showing her off. It was eerie how much she looked like me. Same frame, same curly hair, same glasses. Except she had a nice rack, whereas I am flat-chested. She was “beautiful,” as he described her. Her name was Anna.
I hated her.
She, in my opinion, was hideous - the ugliest, most deplorable female I had ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her, but instead chose to glare at her from across the room. Look how happy he is. Look how happy SHE is. I wanted to vomit, and then I wanted to take my clenched fist and ram it straight into the side of her ugly little head. I wanted to tear her apart. I wanted her to suffer.
Despite the fact that he had paraded his trophy girlfriend around in front of me, he would not leave me alone. And I was all too eager to push her out of my mind and let him in. He began to visit me at my apartment. It was always very innocent, at first. We would watch a movie. We would talk. And then he would tell me how beautiful I was.
I fell into his trap without thinking. Before I could reflect on my actions, we were holding hands. Then we were lying down in my bed, staring into each other’s eyes in awe. Then we were standing on my rooftop, underneath the sparkling stars, touching foreheads as I wished with all my heart for him to tell me he and his girlfriend were breaking up.
They weren’t breaking up. He loved her, he reminded me.
Then he began touching me, feeling me, sending shivers of sensation up and down my body. It was intoxicating, and I fell under his spell as he grabbed me and drew me to him. He kissed me, passionately (I’m wanted! I’m wanted! …my pathetically insecure mind exclaimed with glee), and then he leaned down and whispered in my ear, confirming all of my hopes: “I want you.”
I threw myself at him, gave him everything I could, desperate to prove how superior I was to that deplorable creature he called his girlfriend. Night after night I cast away all my reason and set out to complete my mission to make him forget her altogether.
We did not discuss the problem at all. Weeks went by, and he still had that vile little girl waiting for him in Irvine. Sometimes she would call while we were together. Part of me died every time.
Finally, he confessed to me that he had a history of cheating on his girlfriends. That girl I loathed, miles away? She had helped him cheat on his previous girlfriend. At one point in high school, he was sleeping with three different girls at the same time, without their knowledge. It figured: he was charming, talkative, wild with sex. The quintessential player.
One day, he came to my door, eyes ablaze. His stone gaze spoke of nothing but hatred. Quietly, he informed me that he had finally broken up with Anna, who he still deeply loved. And it was my fault.
I stayed with that boy. He had ensnared me so tightly that I could not let go, so I stayed by his side, even during the period of time when he could not look at me because I had caused him to cry. He cried when he broke up with her. He’s only ever cried three times in his entire life.
Months later, we were in the throes of happiness. We spent the long summer days together, building on that spark that drew us together. I envisioned my future with him, the darkness of the origins of our relationship fading into a dream. I was floating.
Then, one night, we were making love with more intensity than ever before. It was blissful and wonderful how close we had become, how deeply I loved him.
I told him so, and he replied, without pausing, without thinking: “I love you too, Anna.”
5 comment(s) to... “The Boundary: Serial Heartbreaker”
5 comments:
This story is incredible. Wow
Amy brings that fire. I'm thinking guest-columnist. Eh? Ehh?
Excuse me, *recurring* guest columnist.
I'll toast to that
Thumbs up from me!
I just love how I felt the denial along with her that things would be different. And the same "oh..." gadammit, I shoulda known at the end with a heart dropping slap in the face.
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