Dear journal,
I feel sad. I feel guilty. I feel like an asshole who doesn't deserve anything I have right now. I like Scott. I really do. But I don't want to be official. Being official is a lot of work and commitment that I'm not ready for. I wasn't last time, I can't be this time.
-M

--

When I lived in California, I dated this boy. This isn't your typical 'he cheated on me, he was controlling, he hurt me' kind of story. He wasn't like that at all, actually. He was kind of the opposite. He treated me exactly like a boy should treat someone. He was sweet and bought me coffee nearly everyday. I was very thankful for him. I was with this boy, boy #1, we'll call him, for three months before it went to hell.

Boy #2 walks in, wearing these tight ass jeans that were hot as hell. He was charming, beautiful, and smart. A triple threat. Boy #1 was nothing compared to this stud. To add the cherry on top, boy #2 was even gay.

I didn't think much of it at first. There were tons of hot guys in California, what's one more going to do? Well, turns out this specific boy would ruin everything for me.

He introduced himself to me, asked for my number. Being the loyal guy I was, I simply replied and told him that I had a boyfriend. His snarky and highly charming response was:

"I asked for your number, not you're hand in marriage," he replies smoothly, a little chuckle. I smirk crawled into his lips, causing a small blush to rise onto my cheeks. "Let me see your phone," he says. So I did. He put his number in my phone and left with a charming smile. I held my phone close to me with a smile of my own.

I was swooning. And I texted him, because who wouldn't? I can't think of a person who wouldn't, unless you're only interested in girls!

We eventually began to talk during school, became pretty good friends until one day he asked me to meet him in the bathroom. So I went to the bathroom. He started touching me, kissing my neck. I stopped him at first and brought up boy #1, because he was my boyfriend after all. But that didn't stop boy #2. No, I didn't have sex with him, no, I didn't give him a blow job or anything, I kissed him. That was it. But still, I had cheated on my boyfriend I felt like a sack of shit.

The very next day, people began to call me a:

"Heartless slut," someone spat towards me in the hallway. I looked down as I walked through the hall, ignoring as much eye contact as possible. Then I was confronted by him, my boyfriend.

"Is it true?" He asks, tears brimming in his eyes. "Is what everyone is telling me true, Mitch? Did you cheat on me with that manipulative, boyfriend-stealing, asshole?!" He asks angrily. I looked up to him and nodded once. He took a step away from me. "I gave you my everything, Mitch. Why? Tell me why?" I didn't say anything, simply because I didn't know why. "Never talk to me again, you don't deserve me." And then he turned and walked away.

I was never in love with my old boyfriend, but I did care about him. He was way better to me than I ever was to him. I never, ever expected myself to cheat on him, to cheat on someone who was so good to me. And I guess that's what I was afraid of, hurting people.

Ever since that day, I never heard the end of it. Boy #2, turns out, had outed me to the school. He set me up with the bathroom call, only to expose me to everyone. I was called a slut, a whore, and a heartless asshole until the day my mom was imprisoned, and than it got even worse.

They accused me of committing crimes that didn't even correlate to me. Some kids even vandalized the school and blamed it on me simply because "it was believable". Some kids were so cruel.

The more I heard the words come out of their mouths, the more I believed them. I told myself that I'd never cheat on someone, but I did. I hurt him, and I couldn't imagine doing that to Scott, someone who I think I actually feel more for than my previous boyfriend. I wasn't cheater. And you know what they say, once a cheater, always a cheater.

"If you didn't put out so much, than this wouldn't be an issue," he says, slamming me to the locker. I shook my head. "That day in the bathroom, did you really think that I liked you enough to want to touch you? You're disgusting."

"I just want to go home, please," I beg, trying to push away from him.

"Sluts don't deserve to go home. They deserve to go to the streets. Since you put out so much, why don't you sell yourself for it?"

"I don't put out," I argue. He laughs loudly. "I've never even had sex."

"If I didn't stop you, I guarantee you that I would've had you begging for it."

I'll never forget the words he said to me. I felt like a dog. An actual dog. Like I wasn't worth anything anymore, all because I had cheated on someone.

My ex-boyfriend never even spoke to me again. He rarely even looked at me, and when he did, it was full of anger and hate and disgust. I hated myself for making someone feel like that, because I believed that he truly did like me, and truly cared for me. All I did was hurt him. He didn't deserve that.

Scott doesn't deserve that. I couldn't promise myself that I wouldn't cheat again. I can't trust myself, I can't trust nearly anyone! I trusted someone and it got the entire school to hate me because I acted like a fucking whore! Why did I have to meet Scott? If I would've never sat next to him that day in art class, I would've never had to deal with this! I already hurt him by rejecting him, but I would've hurt him more if I cheated on him! I didn't deserve him. I wanted to be a new person when I came to Texas, but deep down, I was the same old slutty heartbreaker.