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There were times I used to have goosebumps whenever I heard his footsteps. It wasn't because I was afraid of him, but because I was too deeply in love with him.

I remember when I was shy to look into his eyes while he expressed his love for me. When he first kissed me, my heart pounded so hard in my chest and my knees trembled.

I would have fallen if not for his firm hands that had wrapped around my waist. I felt I was unfit to touch him, but when he gently led my hands to his broad shoulders, I shyly clung them around his neck for support and went ahead to explore his hair.

I didn't need to tell him he was my heartbeat because he already knew it with the way my heart throbbed whenever he touched me.

Every day, I wet my pillow whenever I reminiscence the promises that he made to me. He was my first love, so every word that came out of his mouth meant so much to me. He made me feel special.

He made me love him so much that I cried out of excitement. He was everything perfect for me. I was addicted to him alone.

I was so innocent and vulnerable. I promised he was my first and last because he made me see myself in his life forever. Not until it happened.

He stopped picking my calls all of a sudden. I was so worried because it was unlike him. He started ignoring my messages, yet he was online all day. He became fond of excuses.

He even ignored me in school when I tried to talk to him. One evening, I decided to talk things out with him because I was tired of his cold attitude.

I called him and was happy that he picked. When I asked him why he had changed suddenly, he told me he was tired and needed to rest. So, I ended the call, feeling stupid.

That evening, I followed my instinct and paid him a surprise visit. On getting to his house, I heard him conversing with someone inside his room, so I decided to eavesdrop before going inside.

"There was a time I got home and met her making out with Dan. The other day, she slept with her drama coordinator, I knew about it. The day she made out with her so-called school father, I was at the window looking at them," a girl in the room said.

"Thank God you have come into my life. I won't have anything to do with a prostitute like her anymore. Did I tell you that I enjoy your company these few days you've been around?" He asked.

"Aw. Close your eyes, let me surprise you," said the girl.

I pushed the door open and met my best friend on top of my boyfriend. They were both naked and busy. So busy.

She didn't only snatch him from me, she also lied against me to him so he could hate me and love her.

She was the one I told my problems to. She was the first person I introduced him to and she pretended to be happy for me.

When he started ignoring me, I sought her advice. She opined I should give him space and I stupidly followed her advice. I didn't know that she was eagerly waiting to fill that space.

Heartbroken, I left them. I read books, googled, and even searched social media on how to get over a first love, but I realized that none of the strategies were helpful enough, especially whenever I saw them both in school, playing, or having fun together. It pained me.

The most painful thing was that no matter the hatred I had for them, I still loved him. I wondered how my best friend of ten years found it so pleasurable to see me in tears while she enjoyed the one thing I treasured so much.

It then dawned on me that if she could do such a thing to me, she could kill me. I decided to move on and pretend they never existed.

But the bitter truth was that I still could not pretend that they didn't exist. It hurt me so much that they were so happy together. I wasn't surprised that every other guy who approached me after my experience irritated me.

I didn't know I had developed a hatred for guys. I was addicted to him, just him. Deep inside of me, I was ready to accept him back if he came back to beg.

I waited in faith as I saw in romantic movies that ended happily and wished for him to come back so we could live happily ever after.

But he came back anyway. Yes, he came back with a wedding invitation card of him and my best friend. Then I knew that not all love stories have a perfect end.

Genre: Nonfictional story
Writer: Ima Udott
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