Ghosted and Thankful

So, I met this guy on a rainy night; we were both on a bus. When I was about to drop off, he asked if he could take me home (such a gentleman). I said yes, even though my cautious side repeatedly told me not (brain, let me live). Ok, it wasn’t the will to live that made me accept his company; no! It was his fuckin' ass.

We ran in the rain and, at some point, I saw myself in “the Notebook” film, when Ally and Noah kiss in the rain (cutest thing ever), except that I didn’t get the kiss.

He left me at my door. I could have just let him go. It would be a delightful memory; but no. I chose to give him my card.

I wasn’t sure if he would call. There should have a call detector, that would tell us: “wait, be patient, he will call” or “forget gal, that man ain’t calling”. And, he called, he told me he had a cold since that friday we got caught in the rain (is he trying to make me feel bad or guilty or something or is he just trying to get me out on a date?).

Turns out, he wanted to take me out. So, we went out. It was fun. We had dinner, drank a glass of wine, laughed. We seemed so in sync. Well, try to please was the least he could do after I had to wait for him half an hour. When he arrived, he apologized and kissed my cheek and, I thought “he’s a good man. Everybody has those crazy days. We can still have fun”.

We went to his house. I was willing to go all the way. I know. No girl should go to bed with a guy on the first date (it is like written in all the books about keeping a man), but I follow no rules; we went to his house, his garlic stinky house, he told me things about himself and, wait for it, he said he didn’t date girls of my colour; I should be lighter or white (and no, he is not white, he’s black), and that he didn’t find any woman (of any color) good enough for him; he has really high standards. So I guess I might really be special. Good to know.

And, in the middle of his monologue — he told me about the time he spent studying overseas, teached me how planes work, how he gave up love, how he was not a man who waits , how he was such a thinking forward guy who was not understood , how he got caught in a five year relationship that didn’t pay back, and other stuff— and with no warning, he jumped straight into my lips (I’m so irresistible, or so he said). The kiss didn’t feel right, I mean, I was not really expecting sparks to fly, but a little something would have been nice.

Seconds later, there we were at his bed. I helped him take off his shirt. I was curious whether he had a six pack or not (and he didn’t. So disappointing), he got his hands on my hips and got my face all watered, ew!!

I told him to stop; he stopped. Then, he tried again. I tried again. Until a point I couldn’t anymore. We stopped, for good.

I asked him to take me home; he asked me to stay the night (“babe, you gonna have the best night of your life”). In the end, he took me home. He embraced me and then, stopped embracing me. He said we would take longer if we walked embraced. He wanted to abandon me half the way home. He said he had to get up early the next morning. I begged him to take me the nearest he could and, he concluded I was selfish, that I was only thinking about my own well being, not his, not ours.

The next night he texted me. He said he was afraid I didn’t want him anymore.

Why would I not want him anymore? He had been such a decent man the other day. Taking me home and stuff. Nonsense.

And then came the weekend. He went missing. He posted a picture on is WhatsApp profile — with other girl — and his status was all about celebrating the start of summer (he told me he hated summer but, that was before I knew I didn’t fancy him that much so, I guess we are even).

Now, he is gone. I feel somehow relieved that he just left; I suspect I would not be strong enough to tell him to go. Maybe I would give it a try, a second chance, maybe I would convince myself that it wasn’t that bad at all, I mean, he had a crazy ass and I could put my hand on it; Maybe it was worthy.

**Don’t judge my spelling/ grammatical mistakes. I don’t really speak/ write english; just experimenting… and my english teacher is not around so, I guess I am free to kill the beloved language.

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