A Promise Gone Wrong

Chapter Thirty-Three: Please, Don't

{Warning: Self-Harm Content}

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~~~Rebecca~~~
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God
Maybe there is more to the story than the things I saw
It's possible
Still
I almost can't breathe
like someone's tying a rope around my heart and pulling so tight

Sure, from the outside looking in, it was just a lie. 

How I thought I wasn't a bet when in reality that's the only reason he ever gave me a second glance.

It seems that those who have come into my life only do so to rip my heart to shreds.
Shatter my trust. Break my spirit.

If history keeps repeating, doesn't that mean I'm the problem? There's gotta be something wrong with me.

Shaking, I sigh as tears drip into my lap.

I just wish I knew what I was doing wrong. What I've done. 

I'd stop. 

Take it all back. 

I'd do anything to keep from feeling like this; from feeling so incredibly stupid.

What was I thinking?

Honestly.

Once a man-whore, always a man-whore. Brielle and I made that motto Freshman year. Put aside the crushes we had developed in middle school for Dylan and Cameron. Though, I never told a soul back then that I thought anything of him. I was too busy acting like Paxton and Kyler were Princes. Figuring that I would end up marrying one of them because I was such a good Christian girl. 

Coming into Senior year, I never expected to be approached by him. Cameron. I knew what getting involved with a man-whore could lead to, but I did it anyway. I wanted to go against my parents and the church. I was suspicious. I had to be a bet. Still, even knowing he could be using me, I chose to go along with it. 

I was using him, too.

Somewhere along the line, I forgot that.

In reality, our relationship is built on a foundation of manipulation. Not love.
Manipulation of ourselves.

He wants to believe he is a good guy, while I want to believe I am desirable. Desirable because I never feel wanted. 

Perhaps I'm a liar, too.

If it wasn't Cameron, would it not have been any other boy who gave me attention? Convinced myself I loved? Because I'm so fucking desperate for it.

Desperate to mean more.

With him, I got a taste. An inch that I turned into miles. Weeks, months, of a romance and love I had only ever fantasized about before. Read about in books. Watched on screens. Witnessed in our school hallways. 

Sniffing, I nearly choke on mucus until I swipe a few tissues from my glove compartment and blow out the snot rockets. My face itches so I rub the back of my wrists over my cheeks and eyes. The rough motion tugs loose the thin scabbing of new cuts on my arms causing blood to trickle into my palms. Usually I don't slice in such visible places, but I didn't bother trying to hide where I put them this time.