"In Which the Story Unfolds" 

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"Too many guys think I'm a concept, or I complete them, or I'm gonna make them alive. But I'm just a fucked-up girl who's lookin' for my own peace of mind. Don't assign me yours."

-

Clementine Kruczynski, Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind.

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September 14

10:45 AM

Somewhere on Earth

https://youtu.be/xguIYNjYU1A

If I tell you a story, would you dare read it?

And if you would, I wonder what should I tell you?

Should I regale you with a tale of two star-crossed lovers?

Lovers, who, by the funny tricks of time, met while walking in a busy street under a starry night sky - or a boarding train across Europe*.

Then, suddenly, there was an instant connection, like two souls led by a tiny string of fate. It was serendipitous, even. As if there was a great divine plan conspired by the universe, revolving around the two of them.

There would be fireworks, music, and laughter. Life seemed to be meaningless without the other. Yet, like fireworks exploding in the sky — so beautiful yet briefly timed — their love came and went like the wind as they drift apart.

Would they meet again? Would they end up together? No one knows.

Hmm, how about something with a hint of adventure?

Like a road trip or a gap year — any journey for self-understanding. They both meet — bada-bing-bada-boom! — sparks were flying everywhere.

At first, they couldn't stand each other. They clash every time they meet. But then, every meeting makes them question everything around them. 

They slowly find themselves smiling and laughing at the other person's every joke. That person plays along to their quirks until suddenly, they find themselves falling and hoping for something unimaginable. They give up everything to be with that other person — even if it means leaving the life they are used to.

And then, that other person leaves them, and they realize it was only them who assumed everything. At that point, they are left with nothing but a broken heart and a kid to raise by themselves. 

So many stories to choose from and so many lives to see and hear.

If I tell you my story, would you dare read it?

And if so, what type of story could it be?

Let's find out, shall we?

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This is not a romance story. It never was. 

No. It's much, much more sinister than that. It is the vilest and scariest of all things to have existed.

This is a story... about love.

HAHA, got you there! 

For a minute, I may have sounded like 500 Days of Summer*. However, this is not a story about a girl named Summer.

Nope. I'm gonna be serious now.

This is a story about a girl named Avalon. Ave, for short (that's 'ey-v', not 'ah-vee'). Who — wouldn't you know it? — just happens to be me. 

How did that happen?

Wei-i-rd. (Cue in, rolling of eyes.)

And, this is the story of my life – more specifically my last year in high school.

Okay, before you roll your eyes and say, 'Not again, not another high school drama' or 'Chile, not everything is about high school' — well, too bad. Like any teenager my age, life as I knew it begins in high school.

After all, it's like a rite of passage where you meet and greet with the younger versions of assholes and bullies before they dominate the real world as adults.

And again, not a romance story. (Yeah, just so we're on the same page here.)

Life is more than just being defined by a single genre.

It's a complex combination of tags for friendship, family, humor, drama, action, mysteries, betrayal, secrets, adventure, youth, uncertainties, mistakes, climate change, and existential issues you have to consider before you may or may not find the romance you're hoping for.

And then, here's where I come in.

How exactly do these stories start?

Oh, right.

Once upon a time...

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https://youtu.be/bc0KhhjJP98

Let me tell you, first and foremost, waking up sweaty and tangled with a one-night stand who has the body heat of Satan's furnace (how I know that will forever be a secret)wasn't(?) the worst-case scenario that could happen to me.

However, the fact that I'm sporting a hangover, near-sighted ('coz my contacts are missing), and without a clue of anything that happened the night before (including whether it was just a series of grunting and body-slapping or the best orgasm of my life) is a different matter.

Don't get me wrong. 

I don't have any qualms against one-night stands. Hell, it's better than going over a date with a guy who may or may never call you back. Mostly never, in my case.

At least, with one-night stands, it's as simple as A-B-C.

No questions asked. No strings attached.

No, nothing. Just plain ol' "Wham-bam! Thank you, man! Nice meeting you - let's not make it a repeat. Au revoir! Good luck with your future endeavors. Wink-wink. Horse-shoe emoji. Don't let the door hit you in the face!"

Of course, there's the precaution of being "safe" (but that's already common sense, so we'll skip that.)

Then, there is the 'Walk of Shame'*. Or, as I call it, the 'Walk of Double Standards'.

I can tell you, that within the first five minutes of waking up, I have devised multiple scenarios in my mind on how to get over that awkward morning after-call.

One scenario particularly involves poisoning – just putting it out there.

I'm not a slut or anything (so shove that Madonna-Whore Complex* away and stick it to where the sun doesn't shine). For the record, I don't even exactly do this type of thing.

But hey, what's done is done. Isn't that what they all say?

No?

Maybe just a few?

Not even one?

Okay, just me then.

Now you might be wondering 'Oh no, what the fuck is this?

Two to five minutes tops of reading just to get to this scene right here with this crazy girl with nihilistic issues who's out of her mind talking to no one in particular.

Well, let me tell you — again. I am crazy. Period-period. And in this story, I am the fucking heroine!

So, where was I? Oh, right. Current naked situation.

In case that's not already obvious, I'm not really expecting much from this 'thing' right here — except getting the fuck out here. 

Nope. Nada.

No thank-you note or breakfast in bed. No morning kisses, forehead kisses, Eskimo kisses, or whatever-kisses there are in existence.

No expectations of waking up and facing this stranger next to me straight in the eyes, and being overcome with this sudden urge to profess my love, or seeing him again at my place of work and being forced to work together until we fall madly and deeply in love with each other.

Now that I think about it, that is stupid. Even if I want to — and I don't — I can't see him again. I don't have my glasses or my contacts. And — I'm crazier than I already think I am!

If I already hadn't made it clear, I am the least believer of romance in real life — especially romantic clichés. And why should I?

I don't see the point of seeing life through rose-colored glasses* or living it out like a Hallmark Movie Channel*. 

But, that doesn't mean I've closed all doors on romance. And no, I'm not eating my words from earlier!

I do enjoy reading romance novels and watching romantic chick flicks. Again, reading and watching.

Anything with an element of romance in them is good for me.

What can I say? The idea was too addictive not to entertain.

Still, I can recognize the line between fantasy and reality. 

Romance was fine, but I prefer to leave it next to unicorns, leprechauns, faeries, and any thought that was far, far away from reality and closer to the paranormal section, at the local high school library.

Let's face it. In this modern age, you can get a date or hook-up with just a swipe of a finger on your phone.

People don't even have to write love letters and wait for the next month or so to get a reply. You just open up an email or a messenger app and boom! Instant- message.

Though, I can't confidently agree with the use of grammar or spellings (but hey that's why emojis were made in the first place!) You can easily enter a relationship without the courtship stage or just end it all with a single text.

And with all that, words of love, commitment, and fidelity are considered archaic, flimsy, and reduced to modern myths.

I mean, come on. Let's be real.

There is no Prince Charming or a Mr. Darcy*.

Guys like Lloyd Dobler, Noah Calhoun, Baz Luhrmann's Christian, Patrick Verona, and William Thatcher* are just walking fantasies meant to keep women aspiring and chasing for qualities that don't exist in guys — ending with committing possibly the worst mistakes of their lives. 

A guy won't be that shameless, stupid, or plain-serious to sweep a girl off her feet.

Nope. They're too lazy for that (they'd rather lift dumbbells with their heads) and too arrogant to even sacrifice or offer a blow to their ego just because they can't handle the risk of being rejected.

Plus, let's not forget the fucking manipulative mind games. 

The Playing-It-Cool Game. The Will-He-Won't-He Call-Me Game. And ooh, my favorite: The Ghosting Game.

Honestly, I think it's a bother and a complete waste of time.

Romantic love is purely fictional.

It's nothing more than a social construct of the mind to justify our irrational desires and need to lower our inhibitions in the pursuit of a preconceived idea of what is happiness.

Basically, a toll for emotional investment, desperation, and eventually, a loss of rationality.

And I, for one, refuse to fall into that trap. That's why I, in the onset of approaching the dating age, have cracked the code and came up with this philosophy that applies to everyone.

DITCH.

Yup, you heard me. I'm not kidding. It's really the name.

DITCH as in Ditch them, they're not worth it. Don't worry, I'll be listing them down throughout my story.

Still not convinced?

Look at it this way, you like a guy or a girl — or both, I won't judge — and let's just say they aren't that interested.

Then let me ask you this, why waste your time chasing after someone, hoping just maybe one day — one fucking day that may or may never happen — that person may like you back just the same? 

Why chase someone who never wanted to be chased in the first place?

Why be the fool who has to change herself or himself just to suit that person, settle as second best, and always be the one to grovel on the ground just to catch the tiny drops of their affection?

Why delude yourself to the possibility that the two of you could end up together, but when it didn't, you wallow yourself in perpetual sadness and pain?

And, most importantly, why be the one who gets left behind when you can be the one who got away?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not as ugly that typically causes people to blow me off just because they're shallow jerks who are much too concerned about what society views as pretty.

In fact, I'm "passably" pretty... I just happened to be intimidating as fuck — you may write that down as being a heinous bitch or a 21st-century shrew. (Go ahead, I support you! — insert RuPaul in drag)*.

I'm not a helpless damsel in distress who needs saving or a nerd that gets constantly bullied by the stereotypical popular kids just like in the books and movies.

To be clear, I'm the opposite.

I'm not a good girl who takes shit from anyone. (I'm quite capable of making my life shit without any help, thank you very much!)

Instead, I'm what people may call in this small town as a rebel, prone to break rules, wreak havoc, and naturally disregard any forms of authority. (What can I say? It's in my adorkable nature.)

If there was any person who has the words 'NOT TO BE FUCKED WITH' caps-locked on a signage with glowing neon letters in front of them, that would be me.

I'm serious.

You know it's that bad when some brave idiotic fools would even go as far as to call me the villain (cue in thunderstorms and eerie orchestral overture). And as a villain, I had accumulated titles like they're collectibles:

'Owner of the RBF*... Breaker of Testicles and Airpods... Daughter of Day-Drinking and Mind-Crushing Hangovers... Instigator of School Violations and Petty Crimes... Bringer of Chaos and Adult Migraines... Keeper of the Most Number of Detentions in Belle Mont... Notorious Regular of the Averill Police Department Under the Age of 18... Reader of the Feminine Mystique... Maven of Pain and Misery... Grey Demoness of Smoke and Coffee... and (ooh, my favorite) Black Plague of the Darrell Legacy...'

Proof of how I just never gave a shit.

But really, if you overlook my hard rebel shell, you'll see that I'm just like any normal teenage girl you're gonna get.

But, back to my oh-so-golden philosophy.

DITCH.

Don't wait for flies to hang around in your mouth. When the signs are telling you they're just not that interested or just not that worth the trouble, jump ship!

In other words, to dumb it all down, MOVE ON WHILE YOU STILL CAN! 

And trust me, from a girl who never had to have her heartbroken, it might just be the solution you need.

And mine — currently.

Now, before I finally finish untangling myself from this Man of Steel's death grip, and avoid any confusion (mostly on my side), I think it's probably best if I tell you how exactly I ended up here last night. 

And, how that night might just change the course of my story.

To be clear, this is not (just )a romance story. (I don't think I would ever know if it was.) It never was. 

(Cue flashback!)

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Sooo, how was that for a prologue?

Sounds interesting

...or...

boring?

Feel free to tell me what you think!

P.S. Underneath is a playlist of the songs I've used for this chapter. I'm also gonna be listing down the titles of the songs for the next chapters. I recommend you play them while you read, just to get that maximum feels.

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PLAYLIST 

(in order)

Supercut — Lorde

Come & Get Your Love — Redbone

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*[F/N]*

Boarding train across Europe — romance trope popularized by the movie, "Before Sunset" 

500 Days of Summer — a 2009 American Rom-Com film about a guy who revisits the one year he spent with a girl he thought he could spend his life with. The girl, however, does not believe in love or relationships.

Walk of Shame — a slang term that describes a person – usually a woman– who is making her way home after spending the night at someone else's house for sex.

Madonna-Whore Complex(Dichotomy) — denotes polarized perceptions of women in general as either "good," chaste, and pure Madonnas or as "bad," promiscuous, and seductive whores.

Rose-Colored Glasses — a happy or positive attitude that fails to notice negative things, leading to a view of life that is too idealistic.

Hallmark Movie Channel — a TV channel known for releasing holiday films with a feel-good message and theme. They're filled with joy, hope, and love that can be cliche and predictable. 

Mr. Darcy — is one of the two central characters in Jane Austen's novel "Pride and Prejudice". He is an archetype of the aloof romantic hero trope.

Lloyd Dobler, Noah Calhoun, Baz Luhrmann's Christian, Patrick Verona, and William Thatcher — famous fictional male leads in romantic films from the late 90s to the early 2000s

Go ahead, I support you! — insert RuPaul in drag  — 

RBF — Resting Bitch Face

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Copyright © 2017 Lei André