Nightmare Dates

Right when you think things finally start going right with a guy, they tend to get a million times worse.  
by Lauren S
 
Friday nights are a great time for partying, especially when you have a reason to celebrate. I finally decided to let go of my long-time man. We were at a point in our relationship which I like to call, “The Booty Stage.” After our three year relationship ended, we continued to see each other for a year. There was no title, no honesty and no kindness. I would like to say there was no love, but unlike him, I still experienced the emotion.  
 
This Friday night, I was heading out with my craziest girlfriend, Sarah. She was bringing one of her male friends as a candidate to take my mind off the man I currently adored.  

 
We reached St. George subway station, where the potential “new” man lived. I had an open mind towards the idea of being set-up. After the last year of dirt, I figured it would be nice for a new, dedicated man to step into the picture.  
 
I met the “new” man; dark hair, great smile, and a lovable personality. We started walking to the pub. A few steps into the walk, the “new” man asked if he could carry me the rest of the way. I was hesitant, especially because we had been drinking. Maybe that’s why I pushed all logic aside and said, “Sure!”  
 
An uneven sidewalk later, I was on the ground, crushed by his body. He dropped me. The asshole DROPPED me. Not only was I covered in dirt, but I hit my head on the sidewalk. I asked to see a doctor. 
 
“Nothing is wrong, just walk it off,” Sarah kept telling me. We reached the bar and I suddenly forgot about the pain in my head, and realized that I couldn’t move my shoulder. I decided it was time to head for a hospital. I didn’t want to ruin everyone else’s evening, so I picked up my cell phone and called the only person I could think of. 
 
“Hello?” the voice on the other end said. 
 
“Hi, I think my collarbone is broken. Can you take me to the hospital?” I asked crying. 
 
“Yeah,” he said dully, “meet me at St. Patrick station.” I knew he didn’t want to do this. Our situation was more complicated than our usual separations. This time, had a new girlfriend.  
 
I said goodbye to Sarah and the-definitely-NOT “new” man, and caught the subway. I knew that I was still in love with my ex, and his new situation tore me to shreds. I reached my destination. He was there, waiting for me.  
I had been drinking, so I was an idiot. I couldn’t fill out my hospital forms; he had to do it for me. I couldn’t dress myself in the hospital gown; he had to do it for me. I couldn’t walk straight; he had to help me. Worst of all, I couldn’t kiss him, and he wouldn’t do it for me. For once, he had a girlfriend, and it wasn’t me. Usually he would still see me if another girl was in the picture. Unfortunately now, he was trying to make it work with someone else. 
 
After the x-rays were finished, he walked me home. At Yonge Street, I broke down. I told him that I wanted to be his girlfriend again. Without sympathy, he told me he was going home, and that I could walk the rest of the way by myself. As he started to walk away, I realized that if I didn’t tell him how I felt, things may never change.  
 
“I love you!” I screamed.  
 
This was a typical movie scene. Girl loves boy. Boy is taken and wants to end things with girl. Girl doesn’t realize until the pivotal moment; which is now. 
 
He turned around and shrugged. That was it. I poured my heart out on a public street, and he walked away. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, it started to rain. I was the injured, crying, pitiful girl in the rain.  
 
A few weeks later, he kissed me at a party. I’m not entirely sure why I let him kiss me, but I know I was relieved when the girl crying in the rain was back as the girl in his bed. When you love someone so much, you don’t care how you’re in the picture, as long as you’re in it.