Adrenaline Junkie by Michaela Go

She was slightly masochistic when it came to love.  She easily broke hearts, but it frustrated her that no one broke hers. Maybe it stemmed from her general passivity and lack of any strong passions or emotions.  She lived her life in a bath of lukewarm water, which, while pleasant, isn't ever in the least bit shocking or exciting.  She wanted the occasional shock of icy cold.

Maybe that's why when she met a guy who made her feel these emotions first hand she threw all her commitment issues and heart breaking tendencies out the window and fell in love with him. No guy had ever made her feel so much happiness and jealousy and anger. The world's end approached at the mere insinuation of his disapproval, but love and gratitude bubbled within her when he forgave her.  Irrational jealousy gripped at her heart when others stole his attention from her.  Being with him was like going to Great America for the first time.  Riding the emotional roller coaster and feeling the ups and downs of extreme elation followed by extreme anger and sadness was, though sometimes painful, quite thrilling. She became addicted.

Every thought in her head, every decision, every action. It all was directed at pacifying him in hopes of keeping them at the high a little longer. Yet, even keeping her every move in check, gravity always kicked in, and they teetered over the peak; plummeting, screaming, sobbing, ignoring, hurting.

She had a tool though. An all purpose, easy to use, solve-everything device.  Her body.  Guys, she learned, might have two heads, but they can only use one at a time.  The trick was directing his blood into the right one. Climb on top of him, whisper a few kinky words, take off your shirt, whatever, and all discontentment was forgotten.  All but hers.

No, she couldn't deny the physical pleasure and temporary satisfaction, but that didn't stop the feelings of disgust and regret that always followed.  Disgust because she knew she wasn't always so weak.  Allowing herself to get walked on all over.  Willing to exploit herself for a little attention from her boyfriend even though she knew she might as well be declaring her insignificance. So weak that she believe that any one being, other than herself or God, was truly essential to her existence.

Even when she finally had the sense to break up with him, she was not empowered by her one moment of strength.  Because one moment of strength was all she had before she crumbled again.  She needed him. Without him, she was nothing.  3 a.m. sobbing. She calls him and begs, "Take me back, I'm hurting so much without you."  Dignity? She already lost it a long time ago.

A month went by. She thought she was getting over him. Then he called telling her they needed to talk in person. It was four in the morning, but she let him. She did not yet know that the words, "Can I come over?" was his euphemism for "let's hook up."

She snuck out of her house and sat in his car where he told her how much he missed her, how he could not get over her, how he couldn't find the same feeling with other girls that he had with her. She drank every word of it.

"Then get back together with me," she said.  He thought about it and agreed and kissed her, or maybe they were already kissing when he agreed. Already it felt as if nothing had changed between them. And he proceeded to peel her clothes off layer by layer. She let him. And the next day…no text, no call. He changed his mind. He wasn't ready to be in a committed relationship.

The worse part was she let this happen more than once.  He'd ask if he could come over and despite how long she managed to say no, her answer was always yes in the end. Always yes. He knew how to manipulate her. Even though he made it clear that the physical benefits were all he wanted from her, he'd always give her the tiniest glimmer of hope. Big enough to make her say yes, small enough for him to deny he had ever got her hopes up. Then after a night with her, he'd disappear again for a while, leaving her to wonder why she didn't learn from mistakes. Friends with benefits? Not even. He didn't talk to her. They weren't friends. She felt more a cheap Japanese blow up doll, or a personal on-demand whore that didn't even get the benefit of the money. 

But maybe she was getting stronger as the weeks passed. The amount of time she spent denying his four a.m. booty calls before she finally gave in increased, until she was eventually able to say no to him once and ignore his calls for the rest of the night. He even started telling her he missed her again.  She told him, if he really wanted her back, he had to pursue her the right way. None of this late-night-early-morning crap.  When he asked her to get back together with him, told her he was ready for something serious, she declined without feeling as though she might be throwing away an opportunity.

And now, ten months later, she's fallen in love with one of her best friends, now boyfriend.  Still slightly masochistic, she can attest to how infuriating he sometimes is. But every day she marvels at how she can love him without sacrificing a part of herself. And in writing this story, she marvels at how stupid she was for once believing she should have to.