I cannot feel anything. All I can do is wish that I had known earlier. After all of the times that I said I loved him but he never said anything in return. After all of the times that we were alone when his hand slowly made its way towards my chest. Or perhaps it was just the fact that he asked me out, before ever asking my name.
It was cloudy day when we met. It should have occurred to me that nothing good happens on a cloudy day. We were at a bar. He said his name was Johnny and we began talking. He asked me out to dinner and then realized that he didn’t even know my name. I told him I was Maria and before long, we started dating, but it wasn’t anything serious. We enjoyed each other’s company, but we never went to each other’s apartment. I told him that I wanted my first time to be special and that I was probably going to wait until I was married. He agreed.
About two months after we started dating, I couldn’t think of anyone else but him. He was the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep, and the very first thing I thought about when I woke up. On our three- month anniversary, I told him that I was in love with him. He acted like he hadn’t even heard me. I said it a little louder, but he didn’t say anything. I was heart broken. I got a taxi back to my apartment, leaving him at the restaurant that we were at, bawling the entire way there.
A couple of hours later, there was a knock on my door. It was Johnny. He wanted to talk things over and I couldn’t help but open the door. We both sat on the couch, talking, and his hand was rubbing my shoulder. I started to forgive him although he never said anything about him loving me back. His hand made its way towards my chest. I grabbed it before he could do anything more, but before I knew it, he was on top of me. I didn’t want him to. I kept crying: “Johnny, please!” or “Johnny, don’t!” or just “no!” At one point he stopped and just looked at me mischievously and said “Maria, don’t you love me?” and before I could say anything, he flicked out a switchblade. He smiled mischievously again and carried me over to my bed. He continued for another hour and a half. Then, he left.
After that, a cold sensation began to overtake me. After a while, I could not feel anything at all. Nowhere inside of me was there an inkling of understanding for what had just happened. I just kept wishing that I had figured it out earlier. Maybe, nothing would have ever happened. Or just maybe, I wouldn’t feel as…cold.
It was cloudy day when we met. It should have occurred to me that nothing good happens on a cloudy day. We were at a bar. He said his name was Johnny and we began talking. He asked me out to dinner and then realized that he didn’t even know my name. I told him I was Maria and before long, we started dating, but it wasn’t anything serious. We enjoyed each other’s company, but we never went to each other’s apartment. I told him that I wanted my first time to be special and that I was probably going to wait until I was married. He agreed.
About two months after we started dating, I couldn’t think of anyone else but him. He was the last thing I thought about before I went to sleep, and the very first thing I thought about when I woke up. On our three- month anniversary, I told him that I was in love with him. He acted like he hadn’t even heard me. I said it a little louder, but he didn’t say anything. I was heart broken. I got a taxi back to my apartment, leaving him at the restaurant that we were at, bawling the entire way there.
A couple of hours later, there was a knock on my door. It was Johnny. He wanted to talk things over and I couldn’t help but open the door. We both sat on the couch, talking, and his hand was rubbing my shoulder. I started to forgive him although he never said anything about him loving me back. His hand made its way towards my chest. I grabbed it before he could do anything more, but before I knew it, he was on top of me. I didn’t want him to. I kept crying: “Johnny, please!” or “Johnny, don’t!” or just “no!” At one point he stopped and just looked at me mischievously and said “Maria, don’t you love me?” and before I could say anything, he flicked out a switchblade. He smiled mischievously again and carried me over to my bed. He continued for another hour and a half. Then, he left.
After that, a cold sensation began to overtake me. After a while, I could not feel anything at all. Nowhere inside of me was there an inkling of understanding for what had just happened. I just kept wishing that I had figured it out earlier. Maybe, nothing would have ever happened. Or just maybe, I wouldn’t feel as…cold.
Honorable mention
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