Stop looking at me like that. That’s how he used to look at me.

No, that’s not how he looked at me, but that’s how I wanted him to look at me. It’s how I looked at him. And the one before him. He never looked at me like that, either.

They pretended to, certainly. You’re the first that doesn’t seem like you’re pretending. But I’m sorry, it’s too late.

I let both of them kiss me and… stuff. I let both of them hug me in front of busses, between classes, wherever. I let them parade me around like a trophy. Because that’s all I was. A trophy. You’ve heard the term “trophy girlfriend”? Yea. That. Exactly that.

So I can’t let you step any closer. I won’t let myself step any closer. I won’t hold your hand, or go to a movie with you, or be seen eating food in your presence. Especially not food that you paid for. I have a job. I can hold my own. I’ll buy my own dinners, and eat them far away from anyone else. Especially you. I’ll read while I eat. Yes.

That way I won’t have to remember how lonely I am.

But it’s lonelier to be with someone who doesn’t want to be with you.

Or to be alone after they walk away.

Yes, yes, I know you want to be with me. I can see it in the way you’re looking at me. Stop looking at me like that.

It’s easier to be alone of your own volition. I am alone because I want to be.

Because I don’t believe in fairy tales. I don’t believe in Santa, or the Tooth Fairy.

I almost believe you. You look sincere, but you’re hiding something behind that silence. I’m right, aren’t I? You still believe in love. Well, I’m sorry that I have to be the one who destroys that bit of magic for you.

I’m only telling you this because it doesn’t matter. Well, it shouldn’t. But somehow I think it might affect you.

I think you’re in love with me.

And I know I’m never going to love again. You know why?

Love is an illusion. Not even that. A delusion.

It’s some made up thing that every generation passes on to the next to ensure that there will be yet another generation. What parent doesn’t want to be a grandparent?

Five days. That’s only how long I lasted for him. We met on Franklin Street. Anyone and everyone goes through there sometime, and if you wait long enough, you’ll meet anyone and everyone. I met him there. I meet a lot of people there. Met. I’m never setting foot on that street again. I’ve graduated. I have a job. I’m never going back. His memory’s there.

We met on Franklin Street, I was walking, he was walking… a lot of people do that around there. Are you laughing? Yes, it’s a street, there’s cars there too. But it’s right next to campus, so why would I bother driving there? Would have.

It might have seemed like an accident, but these kinds of things never are. Everyone knew me around there, and anyone who didn’t know me would be known to gape for a few seconds before recovering. I saw you gaping a bit ago. I know I’m beautiful. But all they saw in that beauty was a piece of ass, and so that’s all they got. Well, more than that. But they definitely got a piece. They made sure of that.

It might have seemed like an accident, he stumbled just a bit, bumped right into me in just a way that would make me lose my own balance and he’d be able to catch me and look like such a perfect gentleman. That’s what being a gentleman’s all about. Knowing when to catch a girl, and when to let her fall. So obviously it’s an act. Manners, like looks, only run so deep.

You know I’m right. That’s why you aren’t saying anything. You’re too scared to admit what I’m saying’s true, but you can’t think of anything to say to disprove me, so you won’t say a word.

Oh, maybe I’m doing the wrong thing. Maybe I’m only making you love me even more. I’m so sorry if I am. I’m really trying to keep you from hurting. Because I’m not going to catch you, since that means you’d only be falling from a greater height sometime later. I’m no gentleman. I guess it would seem to be the most unorthodox return to tradition that’s happened in a good while, for me, a stupid woman, to presume to be a gentleman. But some traditions still persist. Stupid women still aren’t good for anything other than being trophy girlfriends.

And single ones that hold diplomas are still better fits for waitressing than anything better. Do you know what working for tips is like? To have your wallet stuffed near to bursting, but having hardly any more spending power than you did as a teenager, when all that was ever in it was the remains of the 10 bill your parents gave you for allowance whenever they remembered to?

Having a fall be cut into by a pair of strong arms, to be held up by them… the real fall comes when you then look into the connected pair of eyes. I fell right then. He knew it. Because he smiled. I thought he was smiling because he was in love with me, too. But I know he wasn’t, because he’s not here anymore. He wasn’t even there a week later.

But he was there for a bit, on that fifth day. The second morning after. His roommate was nice, but his room was pretty plain. Littered more with Starbucks cups and Burger King wrappers than with papers or textbooks, but the same could be said of most dorm rooms, I’m sure.

Whai- where are you going? Come back, you need to hear the rest of this, or you might be scarred forever. It’s not a rejection. It’s a presentation of facts. Oh, fine, I’ll come with you. But you’d better be grateful. I’m sorry it had to come to this, but believe me, you’ll be grateful in the end. No, I’m not sure what end I’m talking about. Maybe not even until you’re lying on your deathbed, looking back over your life. That’s when you’ll see how much it would be ruined by love, by me. Love – keeping up the delusion – is nothing but pain. You have to pretend so much. You have to smile in the right places, be ready to spend the night whenever he wants you to, know what kind of thanks he wants for each token he gives you. And after that, you have to put up with kids, deal with shoddy cooking, in-laws, and moving whenever your spouse’s job demands it.

He told me that, that morning. He made me give him his jacket back, and I knew that was a bad sign right there. He told me that we had to stop now, because getting married would ruin everything. Yes, it was only five days into our relationship, but I was about ready to ask for an exclusive one right then. I didn’t want any other girl to get a chance figure out how amazing he was! To steal him away!

Don’t you see? I’m sparing you the pain, just like he spared me. Only, I’m sparing you even more, because your hope’s only had maybe half an hour to grow, whereas mine had so many days.

I’m sparing you. This is for your own good. You’ll thank me some day.

Just like I’m sure I’ll thank him someday.