When Nice Girls Fall For Fuckboys

I fell for a fuckboy in this ridiculous hookup culture. Funny how that confession almost sounds like closure, like it’s an explanation for why everything happened. It’s an excuse for you to act the way you did because that’s just the way it is—the way it is until maybe one day it’s not. You’re the one that gets to choose which side to stand on, and I’m supposed to accept that. If I get hurt, I should’ve known better, and if it works out…well that never really happens.

Guys like you get this label because you make us girls angry. We fume from what you put us through and especially the way you left. But mostly, we’re mad because we remember how happy you made us… and that’s the worst part. For some reason, for a moment in time, the player decided to change his ways. He found a girl that was worth it. I felt worth it. Thank you, because you made me feel amazing and continued to do so during the initial saga of whatever we were.

We never had a label and I never thought we needed one. Wanting to be together was enough. At least for me it was. But soon guys like you begin to assume we have expectations and start focusing on excuses to avoid fulfilling them. Deep down we all know if you want to be with someone, you find a way. You’ve known this yet you kept me around regardless. As if you’re teasing me of a future until you wish to exchange me for a better one with a better girl. Like you’re doing me a favor.

Soon time between interactions grow until my phone becomes my biggest insecurity. Our finale is inevitable and I just don’t have the strength to let you go.

The end was vague and irritating. It always is with these things. There’s no real closure and there’s still few attempts of chitchat so you can keep me holding on. You convince yourself this spares my feelings, when really the ambiguity tempts a possible future. Since we were never “officially” together, you rid yourself of any guilt and leave me frustrated for feeling so hurt. As if I don’t have a right to be. You diminished my confidence and self-worth and got off scot-free, all because of a technicality. You were in it for the chase and left me branded in a pool of your conquests…the backup plans you’ve secured in case of emergency.

What’s worse is I let you. I foolishly thought that I was worth it.

It’s taken me a while to accept who you really are, to see the flaws in whatever this was that you masked with phony affection. But really, I don’t think you’re a fuckboy at all. I think you’re a coward. Your fear of commitment is contradicted by your fear of ending up alone. You assume drunk chitchats show you care, when really it makes you spineless. You think nothing ended because “technically” we were nothing from the start…and maybe I held a bit too long on that. Losing you may have hurt, but I knew officially moving on and accepting we were over was going to be terrifying. But unlike you, I’m no coward.

It’s no use to hold on to maybes and “oh-but-that-one-times”; it’s scary to let go, but when I did…I felt relief. After months of telling myself you weren’t worth it, I finally believed it too. I don’t forgive you, but I’m over it. I don’t hate you, I’ve just moved on from how I felt. At last.

Good guys may finish last, but great girls just get screwed over.

It’s only when we’ve had enough when we understand why it needed to happen. Playing it safe, trying to be cool, and keeping distance all just waste time. Refusing to partake doesn’t mean we’ll end up alone, it means we have standards. Soon we laugh at your “i mIsse u” message—GOD why did we ever fall for that? And finally, we learn that our good guys won’t care about what seems cool, or excuses, or the chase, because great girls are worth it. I’m worth it. And we needed you to show us that.

I still can’t help but wonder who you’ll eventually end up with. Is it a girl you change for, or the only girl that’s left? I hope one day you realize the rarity of our connection and value it.

Thank you for teaching me to find some one who will.