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Part 3
A month after that, everything changed. Completely.
We were in her apartment, in her bedroom. I was lying on the bed, and she was beside me, resting on one arm, slightly above me. She kept looking at my face in this quiet way. Then she touched my cheek with her fingers, leaned in, kissed me, and said, I think we should have sex.
I almost exploded right there.
My heart started beating so hard I could feel my whole body reacting. I said, Yeah, yes, of course.
She put a finger on my lips.
Shh.
Then we started kissing. Not like before. Not just making out and stopping before it became too much. This time there was no pretending. My hands were on her back, on her waist, on her ass. I still was not aggressive enough. Even then, even when she had basically said it, I did not know how to take the first step.
So she took my hand and guided it under her blouse.
It was the first time I touched a girl’s breasts like that, skin to skin, under her clothes. Then she took her blouse off, and I saw her.
I do not think you can imagine what that was like for me. I was twenty one, still a virgin, and this beautiful girl was in front of me, letting me see her body. I was already so hard it almost hurt. I could feel myself leaking before anything had really happened.
She took my hand again and put it on her chest. I touched her, and then I kissed her there. I sucked on her nipples because it seemed like the thing to do, and because when I started, she reacted, and that reaction made me feel like I had discovered the best thing in the world.
She took my shirt off too. I was not perfectly fit. I had gone to the gym, but I still had that small belly, and I was aware of it. She touched my chest anyway. She told me I was cute. She told me I was handsome.
I told her she was the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen.
Then I took off her shorts. I kissed her legs. She moaned a little and touched my hair. I looked at her panties, and she looked at me.
“Do you want to?”
I said yes.
I took them off.
I looked at her, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was not like porn. It was not like hentai, which I had watched too much of. I knew she was not a virgin, and for a second that thought appeared again, but it did not matter then. She was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. It still looked precious and innocent.
I stared, completely captivated. Her labia were heavy and plush, a deep, rich dark hue that contrasted beautifully with her skin. They were wide and relaxed, parting with an effortless openness that revealed the deep, glistening cavern of her interior. It looked so soft, so welcoming, with the inner folds appearing plump and well-used, hanging slightly loose in a way that felt natural and inviting to me. The entrance was wide, a lush, open gap that seemed to pulse with her breath, glistening with a heavy layer of moisture that made her look like she was practically overflowing for me. To me, it was the most precious thing I had ever seen, a perfect, open flower.
I kissed her and went down on her. I was not perfect, obviously. I had no idea what I was really doing, but she responded. I focused on her clitoris, flicking my tongue against it, and she gasped, her fingers threading through my hair.
Yes, put your tongue there, honey. she whispered, her voice thick. Yes, move slowly.
I did as she asked, lost in the taste of her. She was so wet, the juices slicking my lips and chin, and I felt a surge of pride that I could make her feel this way.
Put a finger in, she murmured.
I slid the tip of my finger inside. It moved in without any friction at all, gliding effortlessly into her heat. I thought it was amazing, how welcoming she was, how perfectly she seemed to fit my touch.
Just the tip, she guided me. Move in and out slowly… just the tip.
I followed her rhythm, the slickness of her walls surrounding my finger. Then she told me to put it all in, to press upwards. I pushed deeper, feeling the soft, yielding pressure of her interior.
Two more, she whispered. Put two more in.
I added my other fingers, filling her. She told me to move around, to move in circles, and as I did, I felt her stretch around me, the walls of her pussy expanding easily to accommodate the three fingers. I continued to lick her clitoris, my tongue working in tandem with my hand.
She reached down, then, took my head out and touched my hard with the other, then her hand moving to her own clitoris, and she began to masturbate herself, her fingers moving quickly and with a practiced confidence. I stayed there, moving my fingers up and down and in circles inside her, watching her face as she peaked. I loved being told what to do. I loved knowing I was doing something right because she was reacting to it. She came, her body shaking and she called my name while screaming.
Then it was my turn.
I had had a blowjob before, so part of me thought maybe she would do that. But she took off my pants, and my dick sprang free, and I saw her look at it.
For the record, I have never been big. I knew that already. Locker rooms had taught me that. Soft or hard, I was on the smaller side. I had always known.
She looked at me, and for a moment I thought I saw something in her eyes. Not disappointment exactly, she left a small giggle.
Then she smiled.
No, she said. It’s perfect.
I did not know what to say.
It’s so cute, she said.
Can you imagine a girl calling your dick cute? At that moment, it did not even hurt me. Not exactly. It embarrassed me, yes, but it also made me more aroused.
She wrapped her hand around me.
It’s perfect, honey.
She kissed me on the lips.
Perfect.
The problem was that I was too aroused. Too nervous. Too ready. She touched me for a while, then reached for a condom. She opened it and started rolling it on me.
And while she was doing that, I came.
Literally.
I came before I was even inside her.
She stopped and looked at me.
Did you come?
I said yes.
I was red, burning with shame.
I’m sorry, I said. I’m sorry.
She laughed a little, not cruelly, but enough that I wanted to disappear.
Oh no, she said.
I kept saying I was sorry.
She held my face and kissed me.
It’s okay, honey. I’m flattered. I’m so hot you came that fast.
I tried to laugh, but I could barely look at her.
She lay next to me, still naked, and said we could try again later. We stayed there like that, skin against skin. After a while, she started touching me again.
Oh, she said, smiling. This little guy wants some action again.
She kept saying things like that. Little guy. Little man. I do not think she meant anything bad by it. She was joking. Playing. Maybe being affectionate. But it affected me. Not only in a bad way. It embarrassed me, yes, but it also turned me on. That was the strange part. I felt small, and ashamed, and wanted at the same time.
She touched me slowly and said, Well, this little guy really wants some action now.
I said yes, because I did. I just did not know what to do. I had never had sex before. I had not even expected that night to become that night.
She kept touching me, then looked at me with a curious expression.
Can I ask you something?
I said yes.
How long has it been since you’ve had sex?
I froze.
What?
I know guys come faster when they haven’t had sex in a long time, she said. Is that it?
I said, Yeah. Kind of.
She nodded, as if that made sense.
Then she smiled and said, You know what? You were actually really good when you went down on me.
I looked at her.
Really?
Yes, honey. I actually came.
That changed everything in me.
Really?
Yes. Most guys, when they want to have sex, just want to stick it in. They don’t take care of you. But you listened to me. You followed what I told you. So I came.
I felt on top of the world.
Then she asked, Have you ever made a girl come before?
I said, No. I don’t think so.
Some girls are hard to make come, she said. I am one of them. But if you listen to me, it’s not that hard.
She was still touching me as she said this. Not constantly in the same rhythm, but enough to keep the mood alive. Sometimes she stopped, sometimes she started again. It felt like we were preparing to try once more, but also like the conversation itself had become sexual.
Then her tone changed.
Look, she said, using my name. I need to ask you something.
She looked me in the eyes.
Are you seeing someone right now? Serious, I mean. Are you dating two girls at the same time or something?
I looked at her.
No. Why would I do that?
I don’t know, she said. Guys do that sometimes. And look, I know you probably talk to girls. You go to nightclubs. You fool around. Maybe you have sex. That’s okay. I know how people are. I’m not asking because of that.
I stayed quiet.
The serious part is what concerns me, she said. Are you choosing between me and someone else?
I said, No. Of course not. Of course not.
By that point I was soft again because the conversation had become serious. She looked down, smiled a little, touched me, and said, It’s so cute when it gets small.
I did not know whether to feel insulted or loved.
So I asked her the same thing.
Why? Are you seeing someone serious?
No, of course not.
Then why are you worried?
She was quiet for a moment.
After I broke up with my last boyfriend, she said, I spent some time single. Then I started seeing this boy. A boy kind of like you. We were going out, and then we started having sex.
I felt something cold inside me.
So she had not only slept with her three boyfriends. There had been someone else too. Of course there had. It made sense. Maybe they had dated for a couple of months, like we had. Maybe it was normal. But I still felt it.
I asked, Were you getting serious?
We were starting to, she said. Then I found out he was also seeing another girl in a serious way. We both thought he was taking us seriously. He was that kind of guy, a player, and I knew he was probably having sex with other girls. I did not love that, but we had not made anything official. What hurt me was that he was acting serious with someone else too.
I looked at her.
He really hurt you?
She nodded.
Yeah. He did.
I felt sad then. I hugged her and kissed her.
I’m not doing that, I said. If I ever feel like this is not going anywhere, I’ll tell you.
She said, Thank you.
After a while she started touching me again.
What about you? she asked. Any bad experiences with girls?
I looked at her and said, Not really. My high school girlfriend and I broke up before college. It was mutual. We never really liked each other that much. It was just a high school thing. And in college I never actually got to that point.
She looked at me.
Really?
Yeah.
So what type of guy were you in college? The player hooking up with different girls every week and getting laid?
I hesitated.
She smiled.
I never imagined you like that, she said. You’re too good to me. You don’t push a lot.
Then she looked at me more closely.
You know what?
What?
If you had not told me you had a girlfriend in high school, I would actually think you were a virgin.
My whole body went tense.
What?
It’s not a bad thing, she said. I would like that. I mean, I know you had a high school girlfriend, but maybe I would have liked it if you were a virgin. I can get jealous sometimes when I really like a boy.
You would be jealous?
Not like that. I told you, I had boyfriends. I had that guy too. I’ve had sexual experiences. It’s not like you need to be jealous of me. But yes, I can be jealous. Especially with first loves. First loves can be complicated.
She paused.
I don’t know. It’s just the way you touched me. The way you acted. You seemed like the type.
I looked her in the eyes.
Jane, I need to tell you something.
She kept touching me slowly. Very slowly. Almost lazily. At one point she was using only two fingers, which could have been humiliating, but somehow it felt good.
She said, Tell me.
I swallowed.
I am a virgin. I’ve never had sex before.
She smiled immediately.
I knew it.
Then she kissed me.
I knew you were a virgin.
She started giving me little kisses all over my face.
I knew it. I knew it.
I didn’t lie to you. I told you the truth. I had a girlfriend in high school. I went on dates in college. We just never did it all the way.
She touched my nose with her finger.
You’re so stupid.
I almost laughed.
Why didn’t you tell me before?
I don’t know. I thought if you found out, you wouldn’t want to be with me.
She looked at me like I was crazy.
Why would I not want to be with you? It’s cute. You waited for the right moment. You wanted it to be with me.
I did not tell her that I had not exactly waited for the right moment. I had tried. I had failed. I had never closed the deal. But maybe there was also some truth in what she said. Maybe I had waited for the right girl too. Maybe it was both.
She kissed me again and went back to touching me.
You know, she said, I can be jealous. So yes, I like it. I like that you never had sex before. That way I don’t have to be jealous of anyone.
I said, But you had sex before me.
Yeah, but it’s different. I’m a girl.
How is it different?
We do it when we really like a guy. It’s not the same. You don’t need to be jealous. I was the one who broke up with them.
Except that guy.
She paused.
Well, yes. But I also ended things with him because I didn’t want to be with a guy like that.
She kept touching me while we talked, and I felt strange. We were naked in her bed, and she was talking about her ex boyfriends, about the men she had slept with before me. I pictured her with them. I did not want to, but I did. At the same time, she was touching me and looking at me with this soft smile, like I belonged to her now.
Then she leaned closer and whispered, You’re my little virgin, aren’t you?
And I came again.
She helped me clean up. For a moment I thought maybe we would still try to have sex, but I had already finished twice, and the night had turned into something else.
So we did not do it that night.
Part 4
What happened next was probably when the story actually started to take shape.
Because after that night, I kept going to her place, and everything between us became clearly sexual. Not in the full way, not yet, but close enough that it felt absurd to pretend we were still innocent. We showered together. We lay in her bed half naked or naked. We touched each other. We made each other come. We had crossed some line, even if she kept insisting there was another, more important line we had not crossed yet.
Around that time, Carl asked me about her again.
We were in the apartment, just talking, and he said, By the way, did you actually text Jane?
I said, Yeah. Yeah, we’ve been going out.
He looked at me with real surprise.
Really?
Yeah.
You guys hooking up and stuff?
Yeah, I said. We are.
He nodded.
And are you serious?
I hesitated for half a second.
Yeah, man. We’re getting serious.
He put his hand on my shoulder.
Good, man. She’s a nice girl. Just be careful.
I remember thinking, careful about fucking what?
But I understood what he meant, or thought I did. Jane could be a lot. She was assertive, witty, a little bossy. Not in an ugly way. More like Hermione Granger, if I had to give the stupidest comparison possible. She had that same kind of clever, correcting energy. But I liked it. It fit my style. She was exactly what I had pictured, or at least close enough that I wanted her to be.
By then I was seriously considering asking her to be my girlfriend. I wanted it officially. I wanted to walk with her in the park, around college, holding her hand. I wanted people to see us and think, damn, he got her. I was sure people would think she was a ten out of ten in every possible way.
But I was afraid she would think it was too early.
At the same time, I was not frustrated exactly, but since that night when we had almost had sex, we had never tried again. So in the strictest sense, I was still a virgin. Completely. I had not even touched her with my dick. The only time we had been close to that, I came before anything happened.
Still, the sexual thing continued. I went down on her often. She gave me instructions, and I followed them, and she came. Then she would touch me. It became our thing. Sometimes she would lie half above me, resting on one elbow, with my head against her chest, touching me slowly while I sucked on her nipples. I had never known before Jane that I could want that so much, but apparently I did.
Once, I finally asked her.
Jane, can we do it again?
She pulled me closer to her.
Oh, baby. I’m sorry.
She kissed my forehead.
It’s just that I like what we have so much. And I told you, I’m trying to take things slowly.
I said nothing.
We almost did it, she said. But then you told me you were a virgin, and I don’t know. I don’t know if I want you to have sex with me and then maybe we don’t progress. Maybe we don’t stay together. Then you lost your virginity to someone you weren’t even dating.
I looked at her.
But you’ve done it.
Yes, honey, but I already made that mistake. There’s nothing I can do about that now. You still have a chance.
A chance at what?
At not ruining it.
She said it softly, like she was taking care of me.
Why would I ruin you? she said. Why would I ruin something precious just because we want to have sex? You’re still coming. You’re making me come. We have this. We just aren’t doing the full thing.
I understood what she was saying, but I still wanted to have sex. Of course I did. I was twenty one, naked in bed with the girl I wanted, and she was telling me that not fucking me was a form of love.
Part of me believed her.
Another part of me thought, maybe I just need to ask her to be my girlfriend. Maybe that is what she wants. Maybe then it will happen.
So I chose a night.
We went back to the same restaurant where we had our first date. We laughed the whole time. We always had that chemistry, me and her. It made everything feel easy, even when nothing was easy. She looked stunning, as usual. I remember sitting across from her and thinking that I could not believe this girl was there with me.
After dinner, we went to her apartment.
We started kissing in her room. Things became heated quickly, and for a while I almost lost the courage to say it. Then I forced myself.
Jane.
She looked at me.
Do you want to be my girlfriend? Like, my real girlfriend?
She stared at me.
Seriously?
She smiled when she said it, and for one second I thought it was done. I thought she was going to say yes.
But then the smile changed.
I don’t know, she said.
I felt my chest tighten.
What do you mean you don’t know?
I don’t know, honey. What if this doesn’t go right? What if we’re making a mistake? Things are going so well. Maybe we just need more time to know each other.
I looked at her, confused and hurt.
You don’t know if you want to date me? You don’t know if you want to get serious?
I want to, she said. I do. I just get afraid. Afraid of you hurting me. Or worse, me hurting you.
That was the kind of thing she said that made me stop. Because I could see where it came from. I could see the fear in her face, or at least I thought I could.
Then she looked me in the eyes and said, Come here.
She pulled me to her chest.
Are you only saying this because you want to have sex with me?
No. Of course not.
She looked down at me.
You are.
No, Jane. Obviously not.
You are because I told you I don’t want to have sex with you if we’re not dating. I told you I don’t want to ruin you. So now you’re asking me this. Are you doing it only because you want to have sex with me?
I kept saying no.
No, Jane. I want you. I want to be with you.
She started touching me while we talked. Slowly. Almost absentmindedly. Or maybe not absentmindedly at all.
Tell me one thing, she said. If we don’t have sex, are you going to go have sex with other girls?
No. Why would I?
Because you can. We’re not serious. We’re not monogamous. I never told you that you couldn’t hook up with other girls. Even before we almost had sex, I kind of thought maybe you were doing it.
I shook my head.
I’m not.
Are you going to lose your virginity to someone else?
No.
She kept touching me, watching my face.
Because if we do end up dating, I want to be the one. The first one. The only one.
I felt my whole body react to that.
I don’t want you to lose it just because I’m not having sex with you yet, she said. I’m trying to take care of you. I’m protecting you. And then what? You go out and fuck some other girl because technically you can? Because we’re not officially monogamous? Then you lose it, that precious thing, and I wanted to make it perfect one day.
I said, I want it to be perfect too.
She touched my hair. She held me close to her chest. Her voice was so caring that it made everything more confusing. She was telling me no, but she was doing it in a way that felt like yes. She was refusing me while making me feel chosen.
So you won’t lose it to someone else? she asked.
No, Jane. I won’t.
Promise?
I promise.
She kissed me.
Good.
Then she smiled and looked down.
Because I want to be the only one touching this little guy here.
Her fingers moved gently.
This cute little thing.
And of course I came.
It happened the way it always happened with her, fast, intense and perfect. Every time she spoke to me like that, every time she made me feel small and wanted at the same time, it was the strongest orgasm of my life. I do not know how to explain it better than that.
Afterward, she held me.
She still had not said yes.
But she had made me promise that I belonged to her.
Part 5
We continued like that for about three more months.
And in a way, our life was perfect.
Yes, I was frustrated. Of course I was. I had been seeing this girl for months, and we still had not made it official. More than that, I still had not lost my virginity. Not really. But our sex life, if I can call it that, was good. Very good.
She introduced toys into it. Vibrators, mostly. Things I used on her. Things she showed me how to use. At least once a week, sometimes more, we had our usual routine. She knew exactly how to touch me, how to hold me, how to speak to me.
But I was getting frustrated.
Really frustrated.
One night, while we were lying in bed, I looked at her and said, Jane, I don’t want to keep going like this.
She turned toward me.
I really like you, I said. Actually, I love you.
She smiled, kissed me, and said, I love you too.
For a second, I felt my whole body relax.
Then I asked, Do you want to date me? I mean officially. I want to make this real. And it’s not because of sex. I really want this.
She looked at me softly.
I want that too, she said. I love you. I love everything about you.
I thought, finally.
But then she said, I’m just not sure you’re not saying this because you want to have sex with me.
I felt the hope drop.
Jane.
I trust you, she said. I do. But I know how much you want it. And I get it. You’re almost twenty two. You’re still a virgin. There’s nothing wrong with that. Actually, it’s the best thing in the world.
I looked at her.
Every girlfriend of mine says so, she added.
I sat up a little.
You told your girlfriends?
She blinked, as if she did not understand the problem.
Yes.
That’s humiliating.
Why?
Because you told them I’ve never had anyone. You told them I’m a virgin.
She touched my chest.
Honey, they loved it. They all said it was the cutest thing ever. They said it was perfect. The perfect boyfriend.
I did not know what to say.
She pulled me back to her.
This is not a defect, she said. It’s a quality. Stop hiding it like it’s something shameful.
Then she kissed me in that way she had, with those small kisses all over my face, each one soft enough to disarm me.
Lay down for me, she said.
I did.
She moved into our usual position, resting on her elbow, a little above me, my face against her chest. I kissed her there because by then it was almost automatic, something both of us liked too much to pretend it was casual. She started touching me slowly.
I want to make sure, she said, that you don’t only want to fuck me.
I tried to answer, but she kept going, and by then my mouth was on her nipple.
I was thinking maybe you could hold on. Your birthday is coming in a few months. Maybe we could do it then. As your birthday gift.
I looked up at her.
Really?
She smiled.
Wouldn’t that be perfect?
I wanted to say yes immediately, because the image was perfect. But it was also months away.
It seems like a long time, I said.
Can’t you hold it for a few months? I’ll be holding it for you too.
That sentence did something to me. Of course it did.
I said, Yeah. Sure. That seems right.
So we became official.
And for a while, it was the best thing in the world.
We held hands at college. People noticed. My friends noticed. Carl’s friends noticed too, because by then our circles had mixed enough. Some of them came to me, patted me on the back, congratulated me. I could see jealousy in some of the guys, or at least I thought I could. Maybe I wanted to see it.
I met most of her friends. We went to parties together. One time Carl was there, and he was nice to her. Normal. Friendly. Nothing strange.
And I felt like I had won.
That is ugly to admit, but I did. I looked at Carl and thought, yeah, you could not get her. Not really. You had your chance, and she chose me. She was this perfect, sweet, innocent girl. The girl next door. The kind every guy has a crush on in high school, the kind who ends up with the nice guy in the end. Not the kind who sluts around. Not the kind who belongs to everyone.
She was mine.
I felt amazing.
Then everything changed very quickly.
One night we were in her apartment. She was asleep beside me when her phone lit up with a notification.
I know I should not have looked.
I know that.
But I did.
It was a message from a guy on Instagram. His name looked foreign. It did not look like a local guy.
The message said something like:
Hey, are you still in the city? I just arrived for a couple of days. Want to meet?
I stared at it.
Who the fuck is this?
I opened the chat.
There were not many messages, which somehow made it worse. It was obvious they had met somewhere else first, because the first message was something like, Let’s continue here. Then they flirted. He was good at it. Very good. Direct, sexual, confident. He was from Holland, I think, just travelling at the time.
They had agreed to meet.
Then, after that night, he had written that he really enjoyed it and hoped they could talk again when he came back.
She had answered warmly. Too warmly.
I sat there with the phone in my hand, trying to understand what “that night” meant.
I knew I should stop.
Instead, I kept going.
I went through her phone. I went to the chats with her two best friends, the girls she was closest to. I scrolled back. Not all the way at first. Just enough. Then more. Then more.
And what I saw shocked me.
The three of them talked about guys constantly. Hookups, dates, Tinder profiles, stories from bars. Normal college girl things, maybe. I knew that. I knew she had a life before me. I knew she had made out with guys, had dates. I was not stupid.
But it was not only that.
They sent each other profiles. They judged men together. They laughed about them. They talked about what had happened after parties, after dates, after nights out.
Then I found the Dutch guy.
The dates matched.
One of her friends had asked, So how was that guy last night?
Jane had sent an audio. I did not listen to it at first. I just stared at it. Then I played it, low, with her sleeping beside me.
She described him.
She said he was tall, blond, blue eyed, handsome. She said he had that kind of energy, the kind that made you expect things. She said he was very good, that he knew what he was doing. Then she said something about getting the morning-after pill because things had gone further than planned.
Her friends laughed. One of them called her a slut. Jane laughed back and said the kind of thing girls say when they all know they would have done the same.
I felt sick.
Then I kept scrolling.
There was another guy. A sports guy. They had seen each other for a few weeks. She described him too. There were other nights, other names, other little references that opened into whole stories if I searched long enough. She described everyone. How they were in bed, their dick size, their performance. All of it.
I checked dates. I checked rides. I checked names against Instagram.
I know how insane that sounds.
But once I started, I could not stop.
From what I could piece together, in the last three years of college she must have slept with at least twenty guys. Maybe more. Some were short things. Some were one-night stands. Some were almost relationships. Some were just men passing through her life for a weekend.
And then I reached Carl.
That was what hurt the most.
Not because I had not suspected it. I had. Some part of me had always suspected it. But suspicion lets you breathe. Facts do not.
There were messages from right after the party where I met her. Her friends asked about Carl, and Jane answered.
They had slept together that night.
Not maybe. Not almost. Not just making out. They had sex.
She described it. Enough that I understood every question I had asked myself for months had already had an answer. The noises I had imagined. The room I had imagined. The next morning, when they came out together. All of it had been real.
And worse, it had not been some awkward mistake. She had enjoyed it. She had wanted it. She had gone back to it. According to those messages, they had been together more than once that night, and again in the morning before leaving the room. She said they had no condoms. She let him finish inside, and had to get a plan B. Which means she was leaking cum while hugging me that morning.
I sat there feeling like I had been hollowed out.
Then came the part that made me hate myself.
I was hard.
I was sick to my stomach, ashamed, angry, humiliated, and hard.
I took the phone to the bathroom. I kept reading. I was embarrassed by myself even as I did it. I hated what I was seeing, and I wanted more of it. It was like the truth was poisoning me, but I kept drinking it because it was also the most intense thing I had ever felt.
Then the messages turned to me.
Jane wrote that she had met Carl’s roommate.
Me.
One of her friends said I was cute. Very handsome.
Jane said I seemed nice. That she liked me. That she did not know why, but she liked me.
Her friends joked about whether she was going to speedrun the whole apartment.
Jane said no, come on, it is not like that.
Then she told them I had texted her.
They reacted. They teased her. She said we had been talking all day.
And from there, I kept reading.
That was the part that confused me most.
Because when she talked about me, she talked about me well. Not like a joke. Not like another hookup. She told them I was nice. That I was cute. That I treated her well. That she liked my vibe, the movies I liked, the way I talked about the future. She seemed genuinely interested. She seemed excited.
Then I found out she had still seen Carl two more times.
In her room.
After she had started talking to me.
They slept together again.
That discovery did something different to me. It was not only jealousy anymore. It was a rearranging of the whole story. All those weeks when I thought I was slowly winning her, when I thought she was choosing me because I understood her better than Carl did, she had still been with him. Not in theory. Not emotionally. Physically. Secretly.
Then, a little later in the messages, she told her friends she was going out with Carl’s roommate.
They cheered.
Jane said she was going to stop talking to Carl because I was better for her. Because she was getting feelings for me. Because, apparently, she had always thought I was more her type.
That should have helped.
It did not.
It made everything worse.
Because it meant she had not only lied. She had liked me while lying. She had wanted me while still going back to him. She had been choosing me slowly, maybe sincerely, while still doing the exact thing that would destroy me if I knew.
And then what came next hurt even more.