ch. 13
The only other girl I ever really loved, I met during my sophomore year of college. It was in an attempt to be more social, without the crutches of Lynn and Kaila. I realized that I had been relying on them as my sole source of companionship, which was becoming increasingly unhealthy. The older we all got, the more they dated. It made sense, they were becoming beautiful women. And I felt like I was regressing, never wanting to grow my hair out. Never wanting to adhere to the latest trends. I was content with my t-shirt and jeans.
Suzy seemed to like this about me. She was new, different, aggressive. She showed great enthusiasm in teaching me the ways of the lesbian world, introducing me to new people, getting me my first drink. I don’t know how I managed to dive so far off the cliff, but I did. I completely immersed myself into her, believing everything, thinking we had a real future. I forced Kaila to become a distant memory, because I didn’t feel right loving two people at the same time.
I deeply regretted this decision. I knew I was acting selfish, neglecting my friends for a girl, but I wanted to be happy, for once.
Suzy and I were together for six months. It felt longer, but only because we moved at a ludicrous speed. We bonded quickly over the fact that we both grew up in strict Asian families and had to keep our true indentities to each other. When I met Suzy’s family, she introduced me as one of her best friends. We saw them often, because they lived so nearby. The homecooked meals were nice, but it seemed evident that I was the only best friend Suzy ever brought home.
It felt nice though, a sense of belonging, even if it was slightly false.
I got used to Suzy holding my hand while we slept and searched for it often long after we broke up. A lot changed for me after the break up. I think, perhaps, that was the first step into my great depth of cyncacism. There was already an open wound from Kaila, and this scar from Suzy was no help.
I don’t know why I never saw it coming. Suzy always had a wild streak about her, which was mixed with passion. She was the kind of the girl that whispered “I love you” after, well, making love. But then she broke my heart with no remorse, or what appeared to be very little of it.
Since then I’ve found it difficult to believe in anything told to me through whispers. If it’s the truth you should have this gut wrenching urge inside you to shout it from mountain tops, and find the courage to do so.
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