To tell you the truth, I was terrified.
I went into his room and he asked, “Are you ready to do this?”
I cinched my eyes to block the tears. I wasn’t ready. There was no way in hell I was ready. But I became an actress on Broadway, acting like things were okay, pretending and smiling even though nothing was all right. Nothing!
I was seventeen, I’d just taken my vows, and now I was supposed to have sex.
“Are you gonna take off your pants, or do you want me to do it for you?” he joked, but it wasn’t funny to me. I stared blankly. I had been an idiot.
“So?” He put his arms around me.
I still wasn’t ready. I wanted to run back to the canyon where he’d spun me in the snow and professed his love.
I heard his best friend outside the room, talking about amazing wedding nights and how the deed must be done. Didn’t guys ever talk about anything else? The whole thing felt off.
But maybe I was wrong. . . .
So I rested on the bed. . . .
We started doing the deed, but I couldn't remain calm.
Moments passed and I quietly cried.
“I can’t!” I finally sobbed, jumped up and pulled my pants on. So many things cluttered my mind. I didn’t register his confusion or what he did as I left. “I can’t do this,” I said again, to myself. “I just can’t.”
Sex had lasted for a short moment. But still, I was no longer a virgin—seconds had ruined it all.
I burst from the room, my hair wild and my makeup smeared with tears. His friend saw me and started clapping. They were big, resounding claps that killed my ears. “Good job. Way to consummate the marriage.”
Before this, I'd thought I was special. Instead, maybe I was just some stupid girl who’d lost her virginity in a gamble with fate. I ran from the apartment, and hoped I’d find a way home as I cried. I didn’t know if he really loved me. How could he when I didn’t even love myself?
Looking back, it's crazy how one choice sent my life spiraling in a totally different direction.
To read about this writing exercise, please visit my previous post: