Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“My second serious boyfriend was Nate. I met him at a fraternity party in college. He was sweet and funny and completely in love with me from day one. He was also smart and athletic and a truly good person. He wanted to become a doctor and work with Doctors Without Borders, not even kidding. And on top of all that, the boy was objectively perfect-looking, too (one of those can’t-find-a-bad-angle types). Plus, he was head over heels in love with me, which I found an attractive trait in a boyfriend. Oh my God, how Nate worshipped me. He always talked about how the second he saw me, he just knew we were meant for each other. ‘It was love at first sight,’ he would always tell people, and I always wondered if he noticed I never said, ‘For me, too.’
“The truth was I didn’t love Nate the way he loved me, and I knew it in my bones. I never felt that thunderbolt he felt when he saw me, though I was physically attracted to him (because, like I say, he was objectively gorgeous). Maybe I should have listened to my gut and cut ties with Nate sooner, but I was young and I kept thinking the passion would come. It had to, right? Nate was perfect in every way. And sure enough, as time went by, I loved him more and more. I truly adored him for the wonderful guy he was, how funny he was, how endlessly thoughtful and sweet and good. But I never, ever fell in love with Nate. And I knew it. I didn’t practice writing my name using his last name. I never ached for him when we were apart—hell, I didn’t even think about him when we were apart, to be perfectly honest. I never got butterflies when we held hands or kissed or had sex, though all were exceedingly pleasant. And I most certainly didn’t feel an ounce of jealousy at the thought of him with another girl. Not an ounce. And yet Nate made it abundantly clear he lived to make me smile, yearned to touch me every chance he got, dreamed about me, and for sure envisioned me as his future wife.
“Why didn’t I feel what Nate felt for me? To this day, I have no fucking idea. But for a long time, I truly thought things would change and I’d come to my senses and fall head over heels. ‘When you like a flower, you pick it,’ my mom always says. ‘When you love a flower, you water it and let it grow.’ So I figured I’d just keep watering our flower and soon my feelings would morph and ignite into the kind of life-or-death passion I’d always dreamed of experiencing. But they didn’t. I guess some things just can’t be forced, no matter how much you water them.
“Finally, about a year into our relationship, I was at a party with friends where I met a guy who made my panties burst into flames in a way I’d never felt with Nate, not even once. Honestly, the guy took my breath away with just a glance. It was like he’d cast a spell on me and my lady-parts. I’d never experienced full-body lust like that before. I didn’t know my body was even capable of getting that dripping wet—and that was just from looking at the guy. I could only imagine what would happen if I actually got to touch him.
“It took all my self-restraint not to cheat on Nate that very night (because believe me, my vagina desperately wanted to do it), but I didn’t. Instead, I nutted up and sat Nate down the next morning and I broke it off with him as gently as I could (and then went out and banged the shit out of that hot guy from the party four nights later on our second date).
“To say I broke Nate’s heart is an understatement. Even as I’m writing this, I’m crying at the memory of the look on his face when I told him I wasn’t in love with him. To this day, I’ve never felt more like a shitty person than when I told that beautiful, sweet, loving boy I didn’t want to be his girlfriend anymore for no other reason than ‘I dunno why.’
“Now and again, I’ll get an occasional email from Nate, asking me how I’m doing, if I’m happy, asking if I’m married, and I always feel like crying when I have to reply honestly to him, ‘I’m really great, Nate. Still single. How are you?’ I know he’s hoping one of these times I’ll write, ‘I was an idiot. Please take me back.’ But I’m never even remotely tempted to write those words. And, honestly, I hate myself for it.