Did I do that?

It's as if one day I woke up in a closet, and found I was the monster haunting another innocent's dreams.

Girls are notorious for dramatically hating their exes. And every girl has a similar reason, all of them stemming from one main reason:
Boys suck.
They lie. They cheat. They pressure you. They ignore you. Confuse you. Do things that make you so angry your hands shake-but then they make it impossible to stay mad. They are the lowest, most vile, sorriest creations on the face of the earth.
So how on earth did I become one?
Ok, so that's an exaggeration. I'm still a girl, with a vagina and everything. But when did my morals change to those of the worst player?

These are the thoughts that were racing through my head as the bus rumbled through LA. At least, those were the thoughts I was forcing through my head. You know those things you make yourself think about, to distract you from what the part of you with a conscience knows you should be thinking about?
I should be thinking about my wonderful boyfriend, back home, probably sleeping, and sleeping with a smile on his face because I would be home in just two days. He was perfect, and completely oblivious to what a slut I was being. How badly I was betraying his childlike trust as I laid back in another guy's arms, another guy who was already working hard to get his fingers inside my shorts.
I had become a guy.
I was a cheater. I had someone faithful and supportive and wonderful waiting for me at home, but that didn't matter to me at all as I eagerly explored new boundaries, not caring at all about the mess and hurt this would create.

That was a few weeks ago. My prince charming and I are over now. He was a gentlemen, but I know what he thinks of me. The few experiences I've had in my teenage life have taught me to recognize what people really think about you. You can almost always see it in their eyes.
The boy from the bus is nothing to me. Just a bit of fun I wanted to have 3000 miles from home.
It's an interesting thing to become worse than your worst ex. It's as if one day I woke up in a closet, and found I was the monster haunting another innocent's dreams.
There really isn't much else to say about our story. You were a gentlemen; I was a whore; he was convenient. And to my very favorite ex, I have just one thing to say:
I'm so sorry.


No comments yet, why not leave one of your own?

Leave a Comment or Share Your Story

Please Sign In. Only community members can comment.

SMITH Magazine

SMITH Magazine is a home for storytelling.
We believe everyone has a story, and everyone
should have a place to tell it.
We're the creators and home of the
Six-Word Memoir® project.