Preoccupied is another word for I don't want to see you ever againMature

My fake fairytale romance about someone I never loved.

    He told me he was preoccupied and couldn’t see me as much anymore.  He told me he was really trying to figure his life out.  He told me that I am and “awesome person,” but he can’t “fit me into his life.”  I shook my head and pretended to be understanding.  I told him that I get it.  I told him that we would just see each other when we both had the time.  I made him think that I wasn’t irritated with the whole speech he just gave me. 
    I was thinking something totally different.  I was really thinking that he was lying to me, and that he was just feeding me another line.  I knew that when he said he was “preoccupied” that he was using this as an excuse to blow me off.  “Preoccupied” was his way of saying that I only see you as someone I can get into bed.  “Preoccupied” really meant that I am not worth being his girlfriend.  “Preoccupied” was his way of saying that things got too real for him, and that scared him.  Mostly though, “preoccupied” meant I don’t want to see you ever again. 
    I found it comical that he treated it as if our relationship as it were serious.  Really, it was far from it.  When I met him we were both drunk.  Really drunk.  Troeg’s Mad Elf was in season in mid December, and we drank a lot of it.  He just happened to be at the same bar as me, and he happened to be friends with one of my friends.  Eight of us sat at a table together and proceeded to drink, a lot, until about twelve-thirty in the morning before moving on to another bar.  We drank one more beer at the other bar and somehow ended up holding hands on the way back to his house.  I did it mainly for warmth and support for my stumbling walk.  We got back to his place and made out on his bed, but not for long.  I got up and threw up in the bathroom.  I drank too much. I never told him that I threw up after the first time he kissed me, I figured that would come off as it was the most awful kiss I have ever experienced, and it really wasn’t.    I tried to sit and watch he and his two friends play some weird game that involved laying down tiles, but my head was spinning and I could not still for the life of me.  Mr. Preoccupied offered me a glass of wine and stuck his glass underneath my nose for me to smell.  I told him no and went and threw up again.  The next thing I remember is going to sleep in his huge comfortable bed in my clothes.  Then I remember waking up at eight in the morning with him on the other side of the bed in his underwear all splayed out.  If I was sober I probably would have woken him and told him to get some damn pants on, but I was feeling awful and sick and didn’t have the energy to nag.  I went to the bathroom to throw up, yet again.  I crawled back into his bed and laid awake for the next hour.  He then woke up and laid there and just stared at me for awhile.  After a little bit he moved closer to me on the bed and kissed me a little.  We kissed a little, and then a lot more until we were doing the tongue down the throat type of making out.  He helped me strip my clothes off and he took off the only thing he had on, his underwear.  He did something to me that many guys won’t do for a girl, and he did not even want me to return the favor.  We did it for the first time that morning.  From what I remember, it was not all that bad.  At the time I just wished I wasn’t feeling so hungover and sick so I could enjoy it more.  I got up a couple minutes after we finished because all that movement made my stomach upset again.  I threw up in the bathroom again and he heard me this time.  I told him I made myself do it so I could feel a little better, but the truth is that I couldn’t stop it from coming up. 
    We laid naked in bed for most of the morning and just talked.  It gave me the false allusion of him liking me.  He laid with his body close to mine talking right into my ear.  I got up to leave around eleven in the morning so I could shower before work, and he asked me to write my number down so he could call me sometime.  I wrote it down for him, but as I was writing it I was doubting in my mind that I would ever hear from him again.

The End

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