I arrived at school in my freshman year, and it was time for my first class of the day, English. I couldn’t sleep the night before and tossed and turned at a decision I knew I had to make. My girlfriend of three months, the girl who I lost my virginity to, the girl I told I would be with her forever, was driving me insane. All the while, I thought about my ex. She began texting me again, and I vented to her about Leanne. 

Yesterday, as I was leaving the front doors, Leanne stopped me and asked if I had time to hang out today. My mom expects me right after classes, I have homework, and I can’t spend every waking moment hanging out with her. I hadn’t seen her all day, but she should know better. 

In my frustration of telling her over and over again, I lost my temper. “No! I have to go fucking home!”

“Why are you yelling at me? I just wanted to spend time with you; I have barely seen you in the last two weeks.”

Spring break had passed, and Leanne went over to her friend's house and spent night after night having fun. She never texted me the whole week and didn’t try to meet up with me. I was annoyed with this but also relieved at the time I spent alone—the time I needed to think about our relationship, my ex-relationship, and the girl I secretly was still in love with. 

After the yelling incident, I didn’t text her the whole night. She was so hot and cold throughout our entire relationship. One minute, she was all over me. The next, she was detached and hanging out with her friends, taking hours to respond to something I had said. I should be her priority. Why the hell couldn’t she simply respond?

She seemed so annoyingly vulnerable. I told her I would marry her one day and danced with her in my living room when my parents went out of time one night. It felt right then. She was a warm body next to me. And god sex with her was amazing. She constantly told me how much she adored me and would always be there for me. And she believed every word I said about how much I cared for her.

Deep down, though, I knew I didn’t love her in that way—not in the way she loved me. She looked up at me with admiration in her eyes. She bought me lunch, held my hand, and let me touch her in all her places, anytime and anywhere I wanted, without saying no. 

On the bus, in an empty classroom, in a movie, I could slip my long fingers under her jeans, and she would kiss me with passionate acceptance. All along, I thought, how am I getting away with this? She’s letting me do whatever I want. My ex only let me kiss her once or twice. 

After yelling at Leanne, it dawned on me this whole thing wasn’t right. I didn’t love her; she gave me whatever I wanted, which wasn’t enough to make me happy. I was only holding on to the physical, and when I spoke to my ex, I even told her I was using the girl for sex and just sex.

The following morning, Leanne found me in the hallway. 

“I didn’t hear from you all night. Are you okay? Are we okay?”

“No, I don’t want to be with you anymore. I want to break up.”

Tears began to well in her eyes, falling moments after I said the words. 

“How could you do this to me? I love you. I’m so confused. Why would you do this to me now, especially right at the beginning of the day when I have classes and a math test? Why the fuck would you do this to me?”

Her face was contorted, blushing, and choking on the words. She was going to begin sobbing, and I had to get out of there before she caused a scene.

“I gotta go.’

I walked past her swiftly, lugging my books in hand. I felt relief but didn’t expect her to start crying. I didn’t think she was that attached. She must have realized we didn’t really love each other. We were only 15, and she must have realized I only wanted to fool around all the time. I thought that’s what we were. 

The day went by quickly, and I walked to the stone steps from the front doors. She was already heading towards the bus stop, holding the hand of one of her guy friends, looking over her shoulder to make sure I could see her. Of course, she’s already off to the next guy. Why the hell should I feel bad at all?

Our mutual friend, Belle, approached me two weeks later by my locker.

“Jonathan, why the hell did you do that? Leanne is completely torn up and falling apart. She's drinking, she's not coming to school anymore, and you need to talk to her.”

“Oh Jesus, Belle, she’s being so dramatic. She doesn’t care as much as you believe.”

“Jonathan, yes, she does. You told her you loved her, she loved you, and she meant it. She had no idea this was coming. She’s hardly speaking to anyone, and she’s talking about killing herself. She found out you were telling everyone in school that you two were sleeping together all over the place. She thought you would keep it between the two of you. How the hell could you do that to her? She thought you were in love with her; that’s the only reason she slept with you so much. Now, her reputation is ruined because you couldn’t shut your fat mouth. You're a piece of shit.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Oh, it is Jonathan. You were her first relationship, you know she lived a sheltered life you idiot. You took advantage of her because she was in love with you and trusted you.”

“Whatever.” I concluded the conversation by walking away in disbelief. I was sure Belle was exaggerating until the next time I saw Leanne. It was on the bus after school. Her sleeves were rolled up. No seating was left, so she was forced to stand, holding onto the yellow railing above her. Her arms were covered in fresh cuts, dozens decorating her pale forearms. She refused to look at me and kept her eyes forward.

I didn’t learn my lesson, though. We continued to hook up after the breakup. She stopped coming to school entirely in her Sophomore year, and her depression was getting worse. I finally apologized as she told me I had broken her. Out of guilt, I promised to take her to senior prom. A week before the night, I told her I was falling for someone, and she said to take them instead. 

The girl I took to the dance is the woman I am now married to today. I cut off all contact with Leanne. I couldn’t bear looking at her face, and with the reminder, I tore the girl apart for my selfish 15-year-old desires. Days I think of her, I can't look in the mirror.