Sweetland. Part 1

We met on social media. He was cute. I was young. He lied to me about his age. He was funny and sweet and promising and smart. I’d never seen a guy like that show interest in me. We agreed to meet up. That first night….was the last night. It was full of so much. Too much. There’s no way it could have worked out.
It was a party. I got there first and I waited. When he stepped in, he was beautiful. Black hair, pale skin, leather jacket, nice jeans. Even better than I expected. I suddenly felt insufficient and self conscious. Why me?
We talked. And he made me laugh, and I was shy…so shy. I didn’t wanna dance because I’d embarrass myself. More talking, drinking, smiling and awkward laughs. He said he felt bad about something. What? Then he told me his real age. I was upset. More drinking. Eventually I got drunk. Crying. Hysterical. He came and helped me. Water. Now I need to pee…he takes me to the bathroom. Follows me all the way and turns while I pee. I finish. Awkward silence. He kissed me. Never in my few years of existence had someone kissed me like that. It was too intense. Tears. But there’s a line outside the bathroom and people are now banging on the door.
We leave, escaping the grumbling strangers.
The door on the left is open. The room is dark. More kissing. More than kissing. He wants to go so far…but I’m so young…stop. It felt good but it felt wrong. Confused. Intoxicated. Tears. Silence. Words.
“Please be with me.”
“Yes.”
Kissing. Tears. What’s happening?
It felt like being pulled apart and put back together at the same time over and over. That heavy feeling in my chest, that stupid grin on my face, his voice in my ear. Deception forgotten, his words, comfort. The night seemed to go on forever and he seemed to go on forever. It was a perfect infinity and the memory will always be. It was a night I tried to forget and a night I tried to remember. Because things have never been the same since. That was the first time and the last time. All our meetings since have only damaged us more and more. More painful than magical. But not as painful as letting go.
“I’m so glad you’re my girlfriend.”
“W-what…?”
“I’m happy you’re mine? Lol”
“Lol, when did I agree to that?”
“Last night…”
“When I was drunk?”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry”
“Me too”
He’s never been the same since. And I’ve spent tiny forevers wishing I didn’t say that. I did remember saying yes. But it was too much and too scary. I was too young and too free. And too confused. Who are you to be amazing and love me? Who am I?
We met on social media. He was cute. I was young.

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