The One I Ruined for the Next Girl

My name is Phoenix, and I used to be an asshole.

In 10th grade, I dated this guy, who I’ll call Jason. I ruined him. I was one of the very few black girls at my all-girl high school. Every other one hated me. But I was the one that a lot of the guys at our brother school, St. John Bosco, liked. I was down-to-Earth, uber confident, and a major tease. [Fun fact: I was a virgin up until a few weeks before high school graduation, though no one believed me].

Anyway, I met Jason at a school dance between St. Joseph’s (my school) and SJB. After a week of talking, we made it official. He was a freshman; fresh meat. He was cute—light-skinned, kind of tall and very quiet; definitely not my usual type. My best friend and I had the same taste in men. They had to be light-skinned, colored eyes and at least one dent in their record. We liked bad boys. Jason was none of that besides the complexion. One grade below me and inexperienced in the world of Phoenix, my job was to mold him into my own special project. We didn’t kiss until a week after “dating.” (His fault, not mine). He was too scared to take initiative. At our Christmas party, I took matters into my own hands and kissed him, no tongue. Tongue kissing was so disgusting to me at the time. After we kissed, he smiled like that kid from Sandlot who kissed the lifeguard. Quietly, he whispered, “Can you do that again?” It was funny to me how innocent he was.

After a few weeks, I broke up with him. What was my reason? “You’re too nice.” I gave him that whole “It’s not you, it’s me” speech. I never heard him so angry on the phone. After allowing my best friend and cousin to convince me that he wasn’t our type, I talked myself into breaking up with him. I wanted a bad boy. Of course, when he got a new girlfriend months later, I found myself in the middle of the night writing sappy love poetry, listening to Usher “Burn” on repeat with swollen eyes, clutching a blue teddy bear that I had stolen a couple days before. After trying desperately trying to get him back, I realized that I really effed up.

After a couple of weeks of awkwardness, we became friends. We share the same birthday and we exchanged gifts that year. It was special to me even though I knew that we’d never be back together. I moved on to my next victim. However, in the summer before college, he stopped by my house since he was in the area. We sat on the porch at 3am talking about his girlfriend. By that time, he’d been with her for a few years, which made me a little jealous because I couldn’t hold onto a relationship for shit. Anyway, as he was telling me about their argument, he was also explaining some background history. He had begun smoking weed, getting into trouble at school, had made his girlfriend get almost more than 5 abortions, and getting into arguments with his mom, who I absolutely adored. Upon hearing this, I was at a loss for words. I jokingly said, “Wow. I guess I did ruin you. Oops, my bad.” Even though he was kind of tipsy, he agreed with me. I didn’t want to hurt him because I knew my capabilities. I wanted to preserve his virginal nature, but I guess it backfired.

The boyfriend after him never stood a chance either. I was with him for a few months and really cared for him, but, again, he was “too nice.” It sounds ignorant now, but, at the time, it made perfect sense in my immature mind. To me, being too nice meant that I knew that he was too good for me at the time. I desired a mature guy, but with bad boy tendencies. While being Jason’s girlfriend, I wasn’t looking for a real relationship; I wanted a new project to occupy my mind. When I couldn’t get him to do what I wanted, I pushed him away. I ruined him for the next girl…. Sorry.

♥P.