I don’t believe in love.

Oh, I know and trust in the kind of love God gives, and sometimes the kind that a grandparent or a parent has for their kid, but nothing else.

I have found nothing to justify it’s existence.

For all my friends who actually put their life stability on the line just for a glimmer of “love”, they fall. All of them. Some fast, some slow, but it happens nonetheless.

So why would I want to make myself an emotional wreck just to experience this placebo?

-

I broke someone’s heart once. Actually, two people.

The first one, I was thirteen and his name was Matt. We were at a summer camp together, and between the sweltering heat and the bad food, he managed to develop feelings for me.

Back then, I did happen to believe in love. I was reading sappy love stories at the time and believed in Happily Ever Afters and all that good stuff.

On my part, I didn’t even know I was leading him on, though when I look back, it’s really obvious that I was. And just when he gets up enough courage to ask me, I turned him down.

I tried to be nice about it. Key word: tried.

However, we still talk through email, and he’s still really nice and funny.

….

But the next guy, we’ll call him Joe.

His story’s more complicated, but I’ll try to make it simple.

I have a cousin—a friend, who committed suicide. I won’t go into the details because it always makes me cry those big, heaving sobs that don’t go away for a week or so.

Anyways, Joe…acts like my cousin (Justin). It’s the small things, though. Like, whenever I act stupid, he pats me on the head (like a dog!!) and says, “Suuure, Alicia.”

So I met Joe about a month after Justin…died.

The first time Joe did that head pat thing to me, I felt myself go pale and I ran to get a pass signed for the bathroom. I came so very close to crying right then and there, but I composed myself (“composed” meaning I trash talked myself as a distraction to the depression) and then I came back.

I suppose my eyes were red anyway, because everybody treated me very nicely and very politely the rest of the day.

The little small things like that bothered me so much, after a while, I couldn’t bear to look at Joe. Everybody thought I had a crush on him because of my odd behavior, but I didn’t—far from it.

A month or so after I started acting weird around him, I had this irrepressible rage that seemed to burst from inside of me. I was blaming Joe for what happened to Justin, and I wanted revenge (even though I knew that it wasn’t anybody’s fault).

I finally got it, after he broke up with my best friend because neither of them had feelings for each other anymore.

He liked me, I knew that. It was painfully obvious, the way he felt about me.

But, boy, did I hate him.

I tried to hide my rage, I really did. But slips of it came through, then more and more, until it was fully known that Alicia LeMay had a grudge against Joe Reeves.

If I had been a nicer, better, person back then I would’ve stopped at that. But, as you probably already guessed, I didn’t.

I actually let myself be pleasant and nice towards him at times.

So I led him on a dead-end road, filling his heart with false promises.

And because I was actually nice to him sometimes, he was able to ignore the anger I had for him. He should’ve taken warning.

And then…once I was at the climax of this chase…I crushed him. Utterly destroyed his heart. In military terms, I nuked it. There was nothing more than wasteland and a few stragglers when I was done with his heart.

And I relished in it. I realize now what a cold person I used to be, but back then, being cruel gave me a sick euphoria.

About a week later I had a moment of enlightenment, and I cannot describe to you in mere words how terrible and twisted I felt.

We patched things up, little by little, and it amazes me how hard he tried, after all I made him go through.

As a sort of peace offering, I led my other best friend to like him and they are going out right now.

But every time I see Joe, my blood boils and my eyes slide away over him (out of pure instinct). I don’t hate him anymore, you see, I hate what he stands for the ruthless and rageful person I used to be.

--

So, you see, why should I believe in love? (The only time I’ve ever felt it for someone else, he drifted away while stomping on my dreams--and that's another story).

And I’m not gonna be some slut who just says she’s in love to get screwed.

Most “love” is just

1) a big masquerade, acted out by two people

2) lust