Hello everyone. This is the first crack at writing I've ever done for recreational purposes. I wasn't really sure where to post it, so my apologies if it's in the wrong place. I specifically want a critique of my writing style. Anything else would be much appreciated also though.
We dated for six months, and for those six months she was perfect. When you're in a budding relationship, you tend to lose track of reality, everything seems to fall into sync and you make connections that later seem so obsolete it's a fallacy to your character for ever concocting them. I fell into the same archetypal trap that had ensnared countless before me, I believed I knew all, when in fact I knew little.
There is something alluring about the naive bliss you find in youth, where every girl you meet you feel destined to marry. As it were, when Jenna and I first were introduced, I felt nothing, and because of this I thought I would be in control of where the relationship headed. If there is one thing I've learned it's that you never, ever have control of these things. It's like saying you have control of a 7 ton Tyrannosaurus rex because you have it on a leash. No, the winds of fate blew their wretched course through the lips of my room mate and his long term girlfriend. Jenna was a biology major and I a chemistry, which played into the opening statement of You guys can talk science stuff together. And we did, for hours that first night. Not the good kind of science either, not of quarks or leptons, nor of metabolisms or signal transduction, but along the lines of Freudian slips and social cognition.
We hit it off. We spent every day of that summer together, and most of the ones that followed. She could do no wrong. At least until she did. See, it seems childish now, but we thought we were going to get married. I believed it too, wholeheartedly, so when she called and said we needed to talk, it didn't occur to me that it was the talk. Most of that night is a blur now. In sum; she had gotten a scholarship to some school in Florida to do environmental research or something, I don't know, I wasn't really listening all that much. She went on to explain that although she cared about me, she couldn't let a relationship hold her back from bettering herself. Two months later I learned she had been fucking a transfer student from the school she had gotten the scholarship to. I also learned that his father was the head of the environmental science department. That wasn't on her mind though, all she could envision was the importance of her studies and how they would impact the generations to come. It's amazing how people can justify their actions. The one thing I do remember from that break up though, however unnecessarily hostile and misconstrued it was, is that I would miss the smiley face texts. Smiley faces. They're as powerful a weapon as a girl's tits.
I was no novice to the aftermath of a breakup. There really isn't anything you can do except drudge on. I talked to people, went out, but I wasn't completely there. I began to do tasks simply for the sake of doing them. I cleaned a lot. I literally went to every sporting and academic event my school sponsored. I even went to a Pilates class one time. If you ever don't know what to do with yourself after a breakup, go to a Pilates class. You unlock shit in your mind.
See, the problem most people have grasping this situation is that we only dated for six months. We haven't even had a real fight. That was the bitch of it. We hadn't dated long enough to experience any of the annoyances, everything that could be tallied as galling could easily be converted to cute. There was no prerequisite for the break up. It's not until after the fact that you start to notice the messed up shit people do. I began to realize that Jenna had an over-abundance of tantalizing traits that couldn't have slipped past even the most casual of observers. They ranged from talking to her exes to chewing obnoxiously loud. She had the clich้ trait so common among girls of leading guys on, whether intentionally or not, and explaining it off as being a people person. People talked bad about her, but that can largely be credited to the fact that she wasn't there anymore. I realized how little I had actually done socially in the previous months. I realized how my grades had stagnated. The beautiful thing about these realizations is you can cling on to them and extrapolate them until you despise the person. Like standing in a hot shower, you learn to embrace the heat, and then, just as quickly as the pain came, you're over it.
I was good. Everything was good. I didn't think about Jenna anymore. I had moved past the point of hating her. My room mate's girlfriend still kept in touch with her, so I sometimes overheard nuggets of her life in Florida, but it didn't upset me to hear that she was doing well, saving one species of tropical lizard at a time. Then my room mate pulled some shit.
It was around November at the time. I cant remember exactly, but I know when I awoke that morning the tree outside my window was half-laden with orange and off-red leaves, of which the other half surrounded the base as to blanket the roots. Most people were getting ready to go home for Thanksgiving but my room mate thought it would be a good idea to send everyone off with a bang. He wanted to throw a party, where everything was supplied and I mean everything. I didn't mind, and I even offered to chip in. The season had left me in a melancholic mood and I could use people and inebriates. There was a stipulation though; Jenna was going to be in town, and his girlfriend wanted her there. It didn't matter though. It had been months since our break and it was moot history.
As much as it didn't bother me, it bothered me an equal amount. I wasn't worried about any of the emotional aspects, I had no investments in this girl anymore, I was more concerned with the social dilemma I could very realistically be placed in. Were we supposed to talk? Did it matter if we didn't? I decided I'd just let it pan out. Then I decided I hated her again. At least then I would have some groundwork to base the encounter on, however precarious it was. I brought back the feeling of when I learned of how she got her scholarship, how sang constantly in a mocking tone, like songs weren't really worth her breath, how she slept sprawled out in the bed. I was going to be fine.
The days before our party weren't as bad as I make them seem. In fact, my rediscovered hatred of my past paramour didn't affect any other aspect of my life. The party started out as most do. Guests slowly trickle in, then as more arrive it becomes much more exponential. I was mingling, fraternizing, and breaking the deadly sin of gluttony. As caught up as I was in the current events, I still felt an undercurrent of loathing towards Jenna. I was going to control the situation. And then the moment came.
I was in the bathroom of our apartment, which was more reminiscent of a flat, and was located directly across from our front door. I had been staring at myself in the mirror, having an internal conflict of whether I looked devilishly handsome or washed out. Alcohol and other substances causes these things. I was pursuing a dame notorious for her one night stands. I splashed water onto my face and ran my fingers through my hair, I was going to make this happen. The key to whether I spent that night in bliss or self-pity lay just beyond that door, so I made for the handle, opening it wide. Her face stood out from everyone else. I immediately lost all thoughts of the supposed harlot I had been determined to snag just minutes before. The only thing taking hold of my attention was Jenna, in the dim light and wearing that skin tight blue dress, my dress, and all of my dammed hatred went right out the back door. In that instant, that brief moment of my life, it didn't matter if she had the psychological make-up of Hitler. I wanted her.