A Slave to My Mistakes

**Vamphire** · 05-22-2010 07:17 PM

Inspired by "Golden Blunders" by The Posies; my sister has been playing this song since Thursday and now the chorus is stuck in my head...

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I confessed that I liked you at the beginning of our senior year.

That was my first mistake.

My second mistake was when I thought your shock was because you liked me back and I tried to kiss you. I didn't realize that you would freak out that badly from my failed attempt -- mainly because I am so much shorter than you.

It took you three months before you forgave me. I suffered in silence during those months -- you are the only close friend I have, even though I am "popular" and well-liked in general, though I have no idea why. I have nothing worthwhile to offer to anyone else, mainly because I am an unreformed klutz, so why do they gravitate towards me like metal scraps to a magnet? It's just as hard to brush them off me as getting those metal fibers off of a magnet -- you can never get them all off.

I guess I'm just not good enough for you; that's why you rejected me, right? That and I'm a boy; I know you're straight, but despite your playboy ways, I fell in love with you. I had hoped that our years of friendship might have opened you up to the idea of our relationship becoming something more than friends.

But I guess not.

So three months after my confession, you decided to talk to me privately. Your note said to meet you on the school rooftop. I hoped that you had reconsidered and would agree to be my boyfriend.

That was my third mistake.

The sight of your grim face as I opened the door to the rooftop told me that you weren't going to tell me good news. And I was right, even if I hoped otherwise.

You told me that you wanted to be friends with me again, like we were before my confession. I would eventually get over it, right?

Sure.... I told you. Surely not.

That was my fourth mistake, telling you that I was willing to settle for being friends with you when I wanted something more. I should have never stayed with you, knowing your personality.

I had always known that you were sadistic; after all, you entirely deserve your playboy reputation. You would lavish attention on a girlfriend for a week while you would cheat behind her back. And after the week was up, you made sure to let her catch you with the other girl. Your nickname as "the Heartbreaker" is well deserved. You were just smart enough to break hearts outside of the girls at school, so you didn't have to deal with ex-girlfriends bothering you in school.

But now that you knew I loved you, you used my feelings against me, tormenting me. You would flaunt your girlfriends in front of me, even going as far as to date girls from our school so you could make out in front of me. I know that the times I "accidentally" walked into you having sex with girls weren't an accident like you claimed -- I walked in on you a dozen times in a single week, for crying out loud.

And you know what? It hurt, seeing you with those girls. I tried being a friend to you again, but your actions just made it more difficult for me to accept my new friend status. You could have at least been more considerate of my feelings.

But then again, I had known what you were like before I confessed; we had been friends for a long time now.

Even knowing this didn't stop me from crying myself to sleep for months from your clear rejection of my sexuality.

Those months passed by in a blur for me, the days dulled by your constant jabs at my heart and the events foggy from the constant threat of tears in my eyes.

But they gradually got better.

I don't know why I woke up that way, seven months after my confession -- I guess I gradually got fed up with your actions and had been building this part of me over the four months of being "your friend." But I woke up that day and decided that I wouldn't put up with your bull anymore.

My love had faded over the duration of "our friendship," destroyed by your actions. And you know what? It felt good to be free -- free from your actions, free from the pain I felt from your actions, and free from you. And I let you know my freedom as soon as I walked into our homeroom that morning.

I walked straight to your desk, where you were surrounded by girls, laughing as you flirted, and shoved my way to the front of the crowd. I slammed my palms against your desk when you ignored me -- why are you looking so shocked at me? Didn't expect your meek little mouse, always tailing behind you and putting up with your bull to do something against your will? -- and pulled my face close to yours.

Listen to me, I growled at you, my face serious and free of my shyness for once. I want to tell you that I won't put up with your abuse any longer. I am not your play toy; you cannot take advantage of and play with my feelings and expect to get away with it. I've put up with you and your ways for four months now, and I've had enough. I am my own person, and I will live like that from now on. So I'm breaking up with you; don't expect me to be your friend in the future, as thanks for your abuse these past four months.

I saw a brief glimpse of the shock on his face transform into anger as I turned around and, ignoring the quietly shocked girls around me, walked to my desk where I sat down. It had felt good to declare my own freedom, to let you go after three years of pining for you.

I was finally free.