The love stories of IV

Intimate relationships are elusive for some, cyclical for others. Some are Facebook official, others dwell in the abyss of indeterminacy. But in the end, the only thing that matters is the love we felt, the wounds we opened, and the lessons we learned. Interviews with individuals who have experienced such meaningful relationships in the past have been stitched together to form a Frankenstein-esque portrait of strife and affection. These are our love stories.

When we met

He was the first one to ask me to a dance. He surprised me with a poster and flowers. Holding the flowers for the whole day, it felt nice.
I was so fucking nervous. I was scared of every little detail, like how my dress looked, how my hair looked, and if I were to fall on my heels would I embarrass myself? Would I embarrass him?
He was part of the popular group in high school, so for him to ask me to homecoming? For me to hang out with his group of friends? I felt like I was so cool.

The first event that year was Sadie Hawkins. She was supposed to surprise me at the drive-thru window with a giant sign, but she got too nervous.
I was on my break, sitting down looking at my phone, when she walked up to me.
“I was going to come through with the big sign and everything,” she said, “but I decided to just come in my pajamas.”

I lost my virginity to him that night.
We went to buy alcohol for the party. When we came back, they were having an emotional conversation, so we left.
This is it. I’m going. And I’m not coming back.
We go to his place. We drank.
I don’t know what’s gonna happen. I think I know. But he’s awkward. And I’m awkward.
Then we made out on the balcony and had sex.

We met in Columbus, Ohio.
I was vacationing in Hong Kong with my housemates and I matched with this one girl who was on her way out.
My housemates and I were drugged up the whole time, smoking weed every single day. You know how there’s e-love? Like love on ecstasy? I was having weed love.
We added each other on Snapchat, started texting, started Facetiming.
Once I came back, I decided that I was going to go over there.

She asked if I was going to do it. Yeah, I’m going to do it. But you have to sit up first.
She sat up and looked at me. Well?
I looked at her straight in the eyes. I was trying to gather the courage to do it.
She gives up. “Let’s just go.” She opens the door to leave.
My thoughts: What the fuck are you doing? You’re letting this slip out of your hands.
I got out of the car and grabbed her hand. And that’s how it happened.
First kiss. Very proud of that moment. She said I could use some work, though.

When we loved

He’s a beautiful person. Black hair, fair skin, light freckles, and green-yellow eyes that looked like sunflowers. Dark, thick eyelashes that would frame them. Really fucking cute lips. Wore glasses or contacts depending on his mood.

She had super strict and crazy parents. My parents weren’t strict, but they were crazy in their own way. We both had rough home situations at the time, so we became each other’s escape. Our next two and a half years were just us.

She was very good at giving me the kind of love I like to receive. A lot of presence, physical warmth and connection. Someone that was always there for you. We became the same person and I shared life with her constantly.

My family wasn’t so well off, so I was experiencing all these new things with him. Trying new foods, going to zoos and museums. It was really fun and exciting.

My favorite thing about her was that she’s best friends with my little sister.
The reason why my sister and I are so close now is because of her.
One weekend, my sister was having problems at home.
She walked into the room and talked to her for three hours.

We got better at lying to see each other. She’d stay the night at my parent’s house and take off early in the morning. When that couldn’t happen, I would find a place to park my truck and we would camp out overnight.

My uncle passed away from cancer during our relationship. He was the ultimate father to me: he taught me morals and how to be a man.
One day we saw him while on a field trip. I introduced her to my uncle as a friend, because this was before we were dating.
“She’s special,” he said. “You should keep her close to you.”
On his deathbed, he told me:
“When I die, I will bless you and your mom with never-ending love.”
He passed away in November. In January, I decided to tell my mom.
“I’ve been holding this back for a month,” I said, “but there’s this girl I’m talking to that I really like. I really want you to meet her.”
“That’s cool,” my mom replied, “because there’s this guy that I’ve been dating for a month that I want you to meet.”

When we fought

It was one of the best things he could ever do for me.
I told him I needed to talk to him again, and he said he’ll listen.
So at least he gave me the opportunity to talk, which basically meant I was gonna rip him a new asshole.

He was supposed to visit me. He was supposed to stay in touch. Well, he promised a lot that didn’t happen.

I’m not your consolation prize, I’m not your rebound.
I gave you my heart. You dropped it, stomped on it, and said you didn’t mean to do it.
I don’t give a fuck that you didn’t mean to do it. You still did it.
I made him cry. Multiple times. I destroyed him.

Our two best friends died. It was super traumatic for us because we were together when we went to check on them. And talk about weird symbolism or whatever, but the spot where all of us first bonded, that was where the mess was. The magical house that we loved was turned into a nightmare. They were also the glue that held us together, so after they were gone our relationship was wrecked.

I knew I deserved better, but I also knew what he could give me.
I didn’t want to be his girlfriend, go out with him and take photos.
I just needed him to be there emotionally.
I just wanted him to not be an asshole.

“You know that I’ve always broken up with my boyfriends in the past, right?”
No, I didn’t know that.
“I always get this feeling beforehand, like I feel oppressed in a relationship.”
I didn’t know that.
“I’m getting that feeling right now.”

When I got mad at him, he would think that my friends were influenced me to think bad of him. He would talk to my friends and ask them, “What have you done to her? What did you tell her to make her do that to me?”

Me: “You may be broken pieces, but we can make a mosaic out of that. You can still be beautiful.”
Her: “I saw that on Tumblr.”
Me: “Fuck, that’s where I got it from.”

I think I’m a pretty strong person and I don’t change for people. But I changed for him. He tried to make me into the person he wanted me to be instead of a better version of myself. So I tried to change myself too much.

I have many flaws, but so does everyone else. With him, I always felt like a broken, flawed person who he was trying to fix. He was the perfect one.

When we left

We ended our relationship because he had been talking to someone else.
He kissed her the day after our breakup.
His reason for breaking up with me his senior year was that he wanted to start college single.
But he got with that girl right after. And he went to community college.

Rather than blaming him, I could have done better. I could have encouraged him instead of putting him down. There were things I could do that I knew would hurt him, but I did them anyways.

He made me stronger, but it’s frustrating.
I made him better through positive experiences and he made me better through negative experiences. Some other girl’s going to reap all those benefits.
I was the fucking soup kitchen for this homeless guy.

He was my everything at one point.
I still talk to him. My friends ask, “Why are you guys talking so much considering all that happened?”
He was so important to me that I’m scared to make him irrelevant. He’s a habit.

I didn’t love her, but I was in love with her.
You can be in love with someone, but to love someone, it takes time. It’s this thing that grows.
You can be in love with someone and have an instant connection.
But in a good relationship you need to be in love with them and love them.

Sometimes, especially in the beginning, I’ll look at him at think: Wow, I had sex with you. You took my virginity.
When I was with him, I couldn’t let him go. I didn’t know how I could have sex with someone else.
And now I’m having sex with someone else.

Looking back, I did love him. I would always support him, but he wouldn’t do the same for me. He never really supported me. Maybe his definition of love is different than mine.

Her: “You know, my friends think it’s weird that we still meet up with each other. It’s like we’re leaving a closing door open. Every single time the door is about to close, you open it again.”
Me: “Is that a bad thing?”
Her: “I don’t think so.”