Here's your place to come talk about sex and love whenever you feel like it.
I used to always skip past the "Confessions" section of magazines because I straight up don’t buy the readers’ stories. Every time I’ve given in and read a few, I find myself thinking there’s no way that happened! or pfft...how many dramatic movies have you been watching lately?! Now, I totally retract all of those statements because last weekend I found myself smack dab in the middle of one of those embarrassing (more for somebody else than me— but still) horror stories.
This past Sunday, I decided to take a trip to my hometown to see my family for a belated birthday dinner. Since I moved away from my small, rural ‘hood a few years ago to the closest possible big city I could find, and my parents moved to another state recently, I haven’t had much reason to go back. In the past few years, most of my high school group and I have lost touch and gone in different directions — something that naturally happens to almost anyone in life. When it comes to those old friends of mine who've never left home, I mostly made up my mind to keep our relationships at the occasional “Hey! how’s it going?” small talk.
But on this particular trip home, I had a run-in with some of those never-left-home guys from grade school, including my big high school crush. My history with this guy, who I’ll call Pat*, can best be described as dramatic. After a brief fling at the end of senior year, I opened my eyes — after seeing him make out with several of my friends and having him Skype me one night during our freshmen year of college while next to several naked girls — to how much of a womanizer he was.
While still in birthday celebration mode, I joined these guys for some drinks at one of my favorite hometown bars. After a drink or two and some decent conversation, we moved to the next bar where we ran into more people from school, rounds of shots started being bought, and things started getting a bit fuzzy.
One more detail I should fill you in on is that Pat has spent the last few years in an on-again-off-again relationship with a girl who graduated high school a year above us. This relationship can best be described as destructive, ridiculous, and absolutely unhealthy. Most people never know whether or not they’re even together (an uncertainty only made worse by their serious lack of social media presence). His girlfriend, who I’ll call Sherry*, was one of Pat’s consistent hookups during my brief fling with him and the rest is history. I’ve always respected, and liked Sherry, even though she has a reputation of being wild and, for lack of better words, pretty crazy.
This is the point in the story where I own up to making a stupid decision — I did shots. Normally, I don’t do shots. They’re disgusting, they make me sick, and they never lead to anything positive (in my experience). So, I have no questions about why things started to get fuzzy or why, before I knew it, I was flailing around on the dance floor with Pat. In public, surrounded by people we knew, he started getting touchy and eventually kissed me. Having not seen him for a long time, knowing next to nothing about his relationship status, and not being in my normal state of mind, I didn’t question anything.
Now, fast forward to me waking up in a room. Specifically, in his room. Let me preface this by telling you that it was one of the scariest feelings in the world and I hope none of you ever experience it.
Having never been to Pat’s place before, I literally had no idea where I was when I opened my eyes. Feeling like an actual train ran over my body, I tried to piece all of the details together. In the typical dramatic fashion of my life, it was pouring outside and I started to hear a faint pounding on the window beside me. Then, I started to hear a girl’s voice screaming.
“LET ME IN! PAT, LET ME IN RIGHT NOW! WHERE ARE YOU!”
With my eyes still half shut, I peeked up at the window beside me, even though I didn’t have to. I knew that voice. It was Sherry.
No. I thought. This is NOT happening right now.
Turning to Pat, I hoped what I thought was going on wasn’t real. That’s when he got up, put his clothes on (we didn’t have sex but we both had articles of clothing missing) and walked to the door. He’s not going to let her in right now, I thought. Right? He let her in.
Like a really bad scene in a rom-com drama — everything that happened next, happened really fast. Sherry came storming in without noticing me at first.
"Where have you been?! I’ve been calling you!" She screamed. Then, she looked down at me, topless, in Pat’s bed and gasped.
"What is THIS?!" She screamed.
"Uh, she crashed here last night, it’s no big deal." Pat said (Yeah, Pat literally said that. I know what you’re thinking, and I agree — he’s an idiot).
That’s when she ripped the covers off of me, ran out of the room, and stormed out of the house. When Sherry ran out of the room, Pat admitted that they were technically together but he wanted her to see that scenario so they would finally break up. I truly felt awful for her. No matter what type of relationship you’re in, finding your boyfriend in bed with another half-naked girl is sickening.
It didn’t end there. She called me soon after and — despite my sincere apology, honesty about what happened, and admittance to not knowing about their situation — called me some NSFW names within the span of a 5-minute conversation. That was followed by some high school-esque social media harassment courtesy of her still-stuck-in-high-school friends. Always fun.
Unfortunately, the worst part about this hometown nightmare wasn’t that I had a hangover that lasted for three days or that I was used as a tool to finally break up a really long and unhealthy relationship. No, the worst part was that he actually had the audacity to ask me out on a date the same exact day.
Hey Pat, if you’re reading this— still not a chance.
Hey Hometown Friends, (if you’re reading this) if I ever come back, let’s keep things at “Hey! how’s it going?!”