If Our Relationship Were Casual

You were supposed to mean nothing to me. We first slept with each other on Valentine’s Day, something that should have set red flags off in my head from the very beginning, but to me it was just another drunken Friday night when my housemates came in, two of your best friends, and announced that you thought I was cute and wanted to get with me. Having escaped an emotionally abusive relationship just three weeks ago, I wanted a distraction. And you seemed like fun.

They must’ve texted you within seconds of me saying that, because I went to use the bathroom and by the time I came out you were in the living room, having a beer with everyone else. You followed me into the kitchen, picked me up and put me on the counter, and kissed me. I invited you to my bedroom and we had what wasn’t the best sex of my life, but the best sex I’ve had with someone for the first time. I asked you what your last name was since I didn’t know it and you made fun of me, proudly announcing my full name, stating you had asked my housemates about me quite a bit. I laughed and told you that there wasn’t much to know about me.

We didn’t cuddle, which was fine by me. The next morning I felt wonderfully awkward, as you are incredibly gorgeous and I’ve never seen myself as that, yet you through me on top of you and we went for round two. I drove you home and you kissed me goodbye, we didn’t bother exchanging numbers.

I was happy. I had had a fun, successful night with a great looking, funny guy, whom I had been almost friends with by means of my housemates, and it had ended that morning when you walked into your house. You wouldn’t have been my first one night stand, and I was fine with accepting that.

I got the text around six that evening. You lost your wallet, it wasn’t in the bar, so you asked my housemate for my number. There it was, shoved under my bed at some point the night before so you demanded that I keep your blood donor’s card safe until you could come get it at some point. I promised I would and gave it to my housemate for you, thinking nothing of it.

And from there it all started. When you got your wallet the next day, I got the text accusing me of stealing your blood donor card. Then you wanted to hang out and watch a movie, just the two of us. “Watch a movie” is obviously college slang for browse through Netflix for twenty minutes, give up, and fuck, so I agreed. It was sex and I was happy with that.

Then it became more somehow. You asked me out to dinner, brought me over your house to meet your friends, brought me to a barbecue with you. We began having sleepovers completely sober, on just random nights to see each other. Sex was almost always involved, until it wasn’t. Me driving you home the morning afters turned into us going to get something to eat and then spending the day together, just studying. You coming over my house drunk turned into bringing a bottle of wine with you on a Friday night and announcing that we were playing 20 questions. I casually mentioned that my friends and I liked to go to the beach on nice days and you announced that the two of us would go sometime. I told a story about how much I love zoos and you said that we’d go to the closest one together for a day.

We told each other our secrets, about how your only girlfriend cheated on you long distance and you tried to make it work, but she just treated you horribly and about the girl after that. I told you about my ex, emotionally abusive and depressed, constantly putting me down. I told you about my rape when I was 17 and you reacted in the best way possible. But I hated it. We had said we were casual and you were treating me anything but.

You once black out told me that I remind you of your ex. How I love to read, and how my family dynamic is similar to hers, despite you never having met my family. But you’re able to tell just from the amount we talk about our families and friends and everything in life that comes across our minds. You cuddle me so much now and kiss me on my forehead, and not only in the bedroom. But you insist that we’re casual.

I could’ve handled casual if it were casual. But this is far from it, and we both know it. If it were casual you wouldn’t take me out to eat, or text me saying you need help and don’t want to be alone and you know you’ll feel the best around me, in the middle of the day. If it were casual I wouldn’t remind you of your ex, but all the parts about her that you loved. If it was casual I would be okay, but it’s not and I’m not.