Call It What You Want

by Alissa DeRogatis

I never would have thought I could have hated him, and yet I couldn’t even look at him. I never wanted to see him again, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to leave. Ever.

I think the worst part was realizing that somewhere deep down, I knew it the entire time. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get where I wanted him to. I just hoped that I was wrong.

No, we never dated. He’s not an ex-boyfriend. He’s an ex-almost. Maybe that’s all we’d ever be—an incomplete sentence or a book that someone put down halfway through and never picked back up, finished without an ending.

How was it that I felt so attracted to someone whose name I didn’t know?

I liked how he asked a lot of questions. It made me feel important.

She loves love and knows how hard it is for me to find it.

I was willing to do it whenever and wherever because I thought it would make him love me. I was desperate not to be alone. Spoiler alert: sex never makes someone love you.

Life got so much better when I stopped looking for love in every guy I met.

I could tell she didn’t try too hard or take herself too seriously; she didn’t have to.

First kisses can be two things: terrible or incredible. There is no in-between.

Kissing him felt familiar, like our lips were puzzle pieces that fit together just right. He didn’t make me nervous

He made me feel comfortable. He made me feel at home.

“I just wish I knew how he felt. I don’t want to waste my time if he’s not interested.”

“No, thanks,” I replied. “I don’t smoke.” “Have you ever?” He seemed surprised. “Never. I’m a pretty anxious person, and I think smoking would make it even worse,” I explained.

Should I have mentioned that? I can never understand the line between sharing just enough and sharing a little too much.

“It’s just something I’ve always done since I was younger. When I have a lot of overwhelming feelings that I don’t know how to process, I write them down.

I was falling for Ethan Brady, and I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to stop myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this alive.

Since the day that I met her, I thought about kissing Sloane every time that I saw her. That moment was no different. I stared at her mouth and swallowed heavily. My eyes shifted from her mouth to her eyes. I knew that she knew exactly what I wanted.

Your dreams and ambitions aren’t ridiculous. They’re what make you you.

“He’s so hard to read.”

Change is scary.

“For me, it’s definitely more than just sex. But for him? I don’t know.”

In the beginning, Sloane tried to push. She’d ask questions just to see if I’d answer them, and when I didn’t, she understood. I liked that about her. I didn’t mind being there for her, but I didn’t need her to be there for me. I didn’t need anyone to.

I didn’t question them because I wanted him to be the one to tell me—when he was ready.

“We’re good, I think. We haven’t defined anything just yet, but there’s something there—I can tell.”

So I’m good enough to hang out with, I’m good enough to fuck, but I’m not good enough to date?”

As mad as I may have been at him, the warmth his body brought me was something I couldn’t do without in that moment. And even though I hate to admit it, his arms were the only place I wanted to be.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, he was holding my bare heart in his hands. I was so afraid of what he might do to it, but I also couldn’t wait to find out.

“Seriously?” He rolled his eyes. “Why do you always have to make everything into a bigger deal than it is?” “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, my eyes widening. “I’ve given you literally so much leeway. I don’t know why you can’t or don’t want to date me, and even though that’s what I want, I’ve put my needs aside. You can’t turn this around on me.”

Maybe he wasn’t dating me not because he wasn’t ready, but because he didn’t want it to be me. How could I get him to see that it should be me?

I sat in silent empathy. My initial intention to offer comfort through words shifted as I realized maybe he didn’t want a reply. Maybe he just wanted someone to listen.

When I got back to our room and was nestled under the covers, I wondered what really happened to him when he was younger. How bad could it have been? Clearly bad enough to scare him out of falling in love.

My heart hurt at the thought of him feeling alone and unloved. I wished he could see that all I wanted was to love him, and if he’d let me, I’d never leave.

I could feel her eyes on me, could sense her urge to comfort, but I didn’t want her pity. I didn’t want her to look at me and see a project or a lost cause.

I’d known for a while that she was falling in love with me—it was written all over her face and melted into every interaction I had with her. I felt bad knowing that I’d never be able to love her the same way she loved me. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I just knew I couldn’t. I also knew that stringing her along wasn’t fair. I knew what I needed to do.

He turned his attention back to the road. My least favorite love language was physical touch, and that was Ethan’s preferred method of communication. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it, but the way he’d touch me sometimes felt like he only wanted me for one thing—sex. Even though I knew our relationship was deeper than physical intimacy, it was still a thought that lingered in the back of my mind often.

I didn’t even try to pry. I wanted to keep the conversation light, because I knew he hated talking about his past. The last thing I needed was for something to change his mood or for him to push me away.

The sad thing was, I did know. I just didn’t care. I was afraid to have that conversation with him because there was a chance it would mean losing him for good. And while I didn’t love what was going on between us now, I wasn’t ready for it to end.

I hadn’t heard from Ethan, and I was spiraling. After we got off the phone, I waited around for a text from him—it never came, and as much as I wanted to talk to him, I knew what him not reaching out meant. So I was avoiding him in the same way he was avoiding me.

“I wish it were that simple,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “I care about you more than you realize, but I can’t give you what you deserve right now. If I’m being honest, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to.”

“Sloane, we both know that you want and deserve a relationship. Someone who will put a label on things, show you off, meet your parents—all of it. I’m not that guy. I’ll never be that guy. Not for you, not for anyone.” His words stung.

“Please don’t think for a second that any of this is your fault. It’s not at all. You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve this. I don’t want to take you down with me.”

You can’t love someone into changing—you shouldn’t have to. I knew that. So why didn’t I believe it?

How was I able to fall in love with someone who wasn’t sure about me? What was so wrong with me that every time I got close to love, it ran from me?

I didn’t want to be this way, but it was who I was after a life of heartbreak and disappointment.

Do I have fun with her? Yes. Do I like her? Yes. Do I want the responsibilities and expectations that come with a relationship? No.

At first, no contact seems impossible, like quitting an addiction cold turkey. There’s no slowly weaning yourself off of them. One day you have them, and the next day it’s like they don’t exist.

I realized I had to stop putting my life on pause for someone who was no longer a part of it.

When it came to Ethan I had absolutely no self-control, and the sad part was, I think he knew that.

I know you deserve more than what I can give you, but I owe it to us to at least try.”