Romance, Love, and Other Fairytales

I must first begin by saying that this rambling is caused by a whirlwind of emotions, and maybe a few glasses of wine. If you get bored or disgusted, don't stay longer than you want. I'm looking for outlets to find myself again, and I've always enjoyed writing. I must say that this is my first time posting anything publicly, as well as telling this story to the full. Please go easy on me.

When I was a kid, and well into my young adult years, really, I always had these fantastic ideas about love, romance, and sex. I thought that romance would lead to love, and love to sex, and that sex would be lovely and romantic.
Boy, was I wrong.
You see, a young girl raised in a loving home with a wonderful family doesn't really know how cruel the world is. Sure, she can have an IQ of 146 and be pretty damn smart, streetwise and bookwise, but those things are all just theories until she actually gets hurt. I knew going into high school that high school boys were mean, ugly, and really kind of boarish if you ask me. I didn't care for most of them. But, as with any little girl that thinks she's smarter than she is, there were a few boarish boys for her. The first, I'll call him Lewis. See, I'd known Lewis for a long time. We didn't exactly grow up together, but our families knew each other and our dads had been good friends for a long time. Might be what you call inevitable, in a smalltown like my hometown. Lewis was tall, broad, and strong. He was funny, mean enough to be interesting, and a ridiculous flirt. I'll not neglect to mention that he was three years older than me, him at 17 and me at a tender 14. My dear, dear older sister saw it all coming from miles and miles away, but she left for college and couldn't be there to talk sense into me at all turns. Needless to say, I fell hard for the big handsome boy, and thus began the lifelong tragedy of my lovelife...
Lewis was the first to break my heart. Oh yes, he kissed me in the moonlight and made a young girl's stomach do flips, but in the end, he was a teenaged boy that cared nothing about my heart. From thereon out, I did my best to do all the hurting. I would reel some poor bastard in, then disappear like smoke, just to hear the nasty things he'd have to say at school the next day. It was thrilling, I must say. Keep in mind, I wasn't the prettiest little girl, but with a mane of red hair and a personality to match it, I could wreak havoc. Though never with someone I actually wanted.
When I was transitioning from sophomore to junior in high school, I met my first love. Once again, someone I'd halfway known for most of my life. Our story is long, long, long, full of twists, mistakes, heartbreak, and laughter.
Sounds like a shitty romcom marriage intro, right?
His name was John. John was, again, tall and beautiful. He had the greenest eyes, like a mirror of my own, and one dimple that creased his cheek when he smiled. That smile was enough to make me wobbly at the knees, even if it wasn't directed towards me. That summer before junior year, we spent a lot of time together. Really, we worked most of the time. He did some work for my dad, mostly just helping me out, looking for an excuse to hangout. He was my best friend that summer, and I was happier than I had been for a long, long time. Naturally, that came to an end. One evening, I received a random text from him about a date with a pretty girl older than me. It honestly didn't bother me a bit. I teased him for it, of course, but I didn't care about his lovelife, we were friends.
This date turned into a relationship for them, and I was happy for him. I didn't really like the girl, never had, but that's common for me. Everything was fine and I just ambled through school, teasing and breaking hearts until John decided that I was a threat to his relationship, and backed out of our friendship. My world shattered. I could not comprehend what was happening. Why was my best friend, my John, saying these hurtful things to me? If he doesn't want to hurt me, then why doesn't he just stop? Say he's kidding, just a joke, kid, just giving you a hard time. I waited for the punchline, but it never came.
You could imagine that it only got worse. As the days got shorter and winter came aroumd, I slowly realized why it burned every time I saw him with her. I thought at first that it was just because I missed him and hated him at the same time, but one day it clicked. I was in love with him, always had been, and I missed my chance. The days after that were even worse than before, because I let everything I could possibly want as a 17 year old girl slip through my fingers because I was just too dumb.
Oh, the drama of it all. I cried, tossed and turned, yelled, tried to be nice, and really just shut myself off from him completely. It worked for awhile. It was in this time period, my senior year, that I met my second love. I had
been on dates and attempted distracting myself from thoughts of John, but it never worked longer than a night. This time was different. I could be around Shane and not think of John once. Shane was short, cute, and funny. He liked to pick on me, liked the same things I liked, and liked to be around me. I had a massive crush on him, and it was odd to me that he actually wanted to be with me. We had a blissful couple of months that first semester, and then poof, he was gone, much like I used to do. I don't think he ever meant to hurt me, but it did. It was a good hurt though, full of anger and confusion, but it was freeing. I learned how to cope on my own, how to find healthy things that made me forget about John and Shane. I made new friends, and had a good group of girls that were supportive and made me feel whole. I dated a little bit, of course, but nobody had the fire that Shane did, and no one knew how to make me feel beautiful like he did. So, I just dated, had fun, and focused my time on work and school, and most importantly college.
I would like to say that the second half of Senior year was drama and hurt free, but that would be way too much of a fairytale. One late night, laying in bed reading a book, I got a phone call. You're right, predictably, it was John.
I could pretend that I was cold, heartless, and didn't crumble before him like a total badass, but sadly, that's not who I am. We talked for hours and hours, and John told me how he wished he hadn't left me behind, that the girl he was dating was never worth our wonderful friendship, and that he was terribly sorry. I believed him, still do, after everything. But, dear girls, keep in mind that apologies don't mean that everything is going to turn out how you'd hoped. So the next day and for quite awhile afterwards, I was happy that he didn't hate me like I'd thought, but it hurt anew. I felt like I'd had something ripped from me unfairly.
One day, he showed up out of the blue, which didn't used to be uncommon for him. I always had these feelings, when he'd come by unexpectedly, that somehow I'd known that I would see him that day. Call me ridiculous, but it's true. He came by to visit with my parents and I, just like he used to. I was ecstatic. My John was here again, everything was right. I think this is where the true downfall of my fairytale fantasies began.
That night, before he left, John surprised me with a kiss. All I can say, still years later, is wow. I had kissed some really talented people before, but holy shit. It was a kiss that left me breathless and teary-eyed, and the best part was that his feelings were laid bare on his sweet face afterward, and they matched mine. Then poof, gone. Every time we saw each other after that was similar. Wild, emotion-fueled kissing and fondling, and then we wouldn't speak for weeks. I thought that the summer before I left for college I might have a chance to have something
real with him, but he disappeared like always. And naturally, Shane popped back up that summer, we had a fling, then he poofed again too.
Enter College Life: One Single Drawn Out Wild Night. Honestly, I don't recall much from those early college years except lots of heartache, booze, and strange men. I never had sex with any of them, and the memory of John still haunted me at all times. I met maybe one or two guys that I could have had a decent relationship with, but they of course didn't want that. You're 18, 19, why are you trying to be so serious? Have Fun!!
Yeah, Have Fun. Two infamous words I've heard since I turned 16. Even my wonderful parents always said, "You're too young, just Have Fun." Yeah, well "Having Fun" isn't fun at all. It just hurts worse when you're making out with random guys because your heart is broken and you're lonely and just want to go home, but if you go home, then HE'S there, and that just makes it worse, too. None of it is fun.
One weekend before my 19th birthday, Shane came all the way to where I went to college to see me. We had been talking again, and all the regular "I miss you, I just didn't know what was good for me," talk had been happening. Plus, I was lonely and eager for a familiar face and feeling. I had always refrained from having sex because I truly wanted to wait till marriage, for reasons not just religious, and because only once had it felt right to try. Of course, that weekend I got ridiculously drunk, and before I knew it, I was waking up next to Shane with shame and regret deeply seated in my bones. I had avidly guarded that part of me for my whole life, and in one night, it was gone and I'd never get it back. That first time that should have been lovely, romantic, and with someone that loved me dearly was lost to a sweet but undeserving drunk, and most of it I couldn't even remember. I was devastated, once again I felt cheated. All I wanted was to go back to that summer before my junior year, and tell John that I was in love with him and to not pick that other girl because look at all of the terrible things that will happen if you do.
But, it was all Fun. Hopeless, dreary, heartwrenching Fun. I closed myself off even more after that, and there was one young man that seemed to truly care about me, but he enjoyed our friendship only, unless I would be willing to have sex with him. One more tiny crack to add to a dried up heart.
On one of the brief trips I made home, I saw John and I'll never forget that day. He kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive, and I felt as if he was air and I'd been drowning. The sadness in his eyes made me wonder if he really, truly, meant all the things he said about loving me and wanting me, but it of course didn't pan out. I even laid it all on the line and asked him bluntly to give me a shot, but the timing wasn't right, and the next time I came home, there was someone else. Always second choice.
I took the second semester of my sophomore year of college off, due to some vehicle and emotional issues that I knew had to be fixed before I could graduate. In this interim, I met someone very special to me, that got me through my past and helped me get my life back together. I quit drinking so much and started staying home and spending time with my family again, when I wasn't with him. His name will be Lane. At first, Lane and I were a wild, blissful adventure. I had been in love before, but to be in love with someone that loves you with the same reckless abandon is unlike anything you will ever feel. I opened up to him, told him all my secrets, about all my painful memories, and actually told him about John. I'd never told anyone else about John before. Drunken mistakes were made a few months into it, and instead of leaving me, he forgave me and worked through it with me. He never really fully trusted me again, but it was enough for me that someone was willing to love my flaws. Things gradually left the honeymoon stage, and it got hard. I started college again at a different school in the fall, and it was very difficult for awhile. See, Lane loved me and tried his hardest to be good to me, but he had tendencies to be controlling, partly inspired by my past mistakes. I blamed myself for a long time for his mistrust, but I slowly realized that it wasn't all my fault. I was always willing to forgive him immediately, and he always resented me, even if he tried not to.
In the midst of the endless fighting, terrible nights, difficulties to stay sober, and torturing heartache, a bright light shown. Hate me for it if you want, I do as well, but I gave in to my bright light named John. He swept in one cold night while I was home on break, and I was of course fighting with Lane. John's relationship was difficult for him as well, and in the middle of our troubles, we found comfort in each other. I found solace in his soft, tender, timid touch. The sex with Lane was always good, but he had never figured out how to show me his love through his touch. John knew how to run his fingers down my cheek and hold me to his chest in a way that felt like a fairytale. That night, I gave it all to John, and I regretted it immediately, but it felt like the first time, how it should have felt. He lit a cigarette afterwards and held me tight, not saying a word, but pouring love into the cracks of my heart. The bad part was that I knew he would be gone again, probably never to return, but for a moment I felt like my life was better.
I struggled and struggled afterwards, when he disappeared like I knew he would, and I struggled with the shame of cheating on Lane once again. But even now, I can't help but think that maybe Lane didn't deserve the things I gave to him, and maybe what I needed was more important than listening to him scream at me through the phone for trying to spend time with my family.
So I broke up with Lane after that, right? Surprisingly, no. For some reason, my strong, independent heart and sound mind did not want to let go of the man that loved me, as difficult as it may have been. I did really well after that, and Lane grew up and stopped being controlling. Things were really great for awhile, even through the next summer before my senior year of college. The sex was still the same, lacking fire and romance and those passionate moments that leave you gasping for air. I felt all of those things for him, I loved him with my entire being. I tried so hard to show him my love through touch, care, and words. I tried to make him understand that I needed the same.
He always thought that I was too fantastic, that my dreams of love and romance and sex were just dreams, that fairytales don't come true. I believed him for awhile, giving up the kind of love I needed for the kind of love that he and only he provided. I thought that being upset and sad over my fairytale ideas was not worth losing Lane. When I went back for my senior year, I was terribly, terribly lonely. The nature of his controlling behavior the year before had made it difficult to make friends. I found solace in church, and my boss and his family. They are wonderful, caring people, and knew that I was struggling. I also found solace in my work and in making good grades for once.
But I couldn't shake the depression I had fallen into. Every time I saw Lane, I kept expecting a vibrant blossom of love between us after being so long apart, but it was never there. He loved and cared for me, of course, but something was always missing. It all culminated to where I sit now, a day after telling Lane that I did not want to speak to him for awhile. We fought last night, and I foolishly accused him of cheating on me, justifiably I think, but I knew at heart that he was not capable. I then asked if he would wait for me if I needed some time to get my head straight, to crawl out of my depression. He told me that if I needed time away from him in order to get happy again, then he would not stick around. After almost two years, he told me that he wouldn't wait for even a week. I asked point-blank, "If we took a break, would you find someone else?" and his answer was the worst feeling I've ever had.
Maybe I don't deserve happiness with him, after all I've done. Maybe I don't deserve happiness at all. But what I know I deserve is to love myself. I sit here typing away, trying to find the answer, trying to figure out if my experiences
are catching up to me, trying to decide what's best for me, and for us. I haven't spoken to Lane at all. I feel worse now than ever. Even after John and Shane, I have never felt so destroyed and lost. I want to let go of Lane, I want to find myself again, but I don't want to hurt him or make a mistake of letting go of the only man who has ever truly loved me. What if I'm wrong? What if love and romance and sex don't fall together? What if they are just fairytales after all?