Arrogant Girl

Of all the things I may be, or will be in my life, I can say indifferently that I am a cheater, an arrogant girl.  Due to some error in my fundamental programming, I put myself outside and above conventional dating rules. I committed the cardinal sin.
         Writing like this is so hard for me because for the first time in my life, I am writing about myself as I am. There is no jaded or strung out character for me to hide behind, it’s completely raw, completely real, and completely wrong. There is no use stating that I don’t want to be judged for this warped confession, because I would judge everyone who had the guts to say what I’m about to say, and to do what I’ve done.
         The thing that most people don’t know about cheaters is that we don’t feel like bad people, most of the time. I guess that I am being extremely general and making assumptions, but aside from that critical error that makes me believe that I’ve done nothing wrong, despite everything, I can’t imagine infidelity would be too different for anyone else. There was never a time that I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror; I never had a staggering impulse to shatter my unchanged reflection from sheer disgust. I questioned myself, but never regretted.
              The whole affair, illicit as it was intriguing, began with an online message, then progressed to continual text conversations, late night get-to-know-you sessions, and long discussions in the one class that we had in common. For nearly three and half months, I’d been content in my textbook relationship, but suddenly, I was aware of just how far below personal standards my boyfriend fell, and it bothered me. However, instead of confronting that problem, I looked to my new guy for what I was missing in my current relationship. Essentially, it became a twisted game. Talking to my boyfriend was obviously requisite, but I didn't necessarily mind, because I knew that when I wasn’t with him, I was texting my new flame.
              Nothing had changed between us on the surface though. What puzzled me most was the fact that I was able to continue the same mundane conversations, the same habitual soft kisses. I began to notice little things, like all of the practical reasons that we could not be together forever. Eventually, it hit me: everything I loved about the new guy, my boyfriend was sorely lacking. At that point, I knew something had to be done about it. Once those thoughts enter your mind, the relationship begins to end. Nothing erases them. Things cannot go back to the way they were.
            Being flawed, supercilious and maybe a little foolish as I admittedly am, I thought that I could make everything work for me. The new boy understood the faulty timing, and was willing to wait. My boyfriend knew nothing, and that’s how it would remain. I could let our relationship end as though naturally, letting him go by degree. I would take care of myself first, and for the most part, no one but me would have to know.
            That fifth period began like every other; my new guy and me took our seats at computers and began working on nothing in particular, as every member of The Charger does most days. Instead, we entertained each other, flirting and talking as had become our habit. The first half of the block period seemed to last five minutes. My only academic accomplishment was the completion of a podcast I would record later that day.
            Subconsciously, I’m sure I knew what I was doing when, with a coy smile and tilt of my head, I asked him to come with me into the computer lab across the hall, script and microphone in tow. At the time, I wasn’t thinking about anything, really, except my inevitable breakup. I wanted so desperately to jump, and more desperately for him to catch me.
                After a verbal affirmation of his good intentions, he asked me if he needed to give me a sign, or something. I laughed softly, feeling my breath catch in my throat. My mind frantically tried to make sense of it all as I recorded and saved the podcast. Once I’d finished, he stood and crossed the short distance to the light switch. Darkness captured the room, the silence punctuated only by the mechanical hum of hardware and the unsteady breath I drew as he leaned against the wall and beckoned me closer.
                “What are you doing?” I asked quietly, realizing that my position was not uncomfortable, much to my surprise. This was what I’d wanted, but that did not stop my heart’s furious race, or the tremble of my hand as I fidgeted with the bracelet on my wrist.
“Giving you your sign,” he answered instantly, evenly. I could see his adorable smile that I hadn’t been able to get off my mind even in the semi blackness of the computer lab.
         Something in me felt obligated to protest, but I was growing weaker to him by the second. Three steps later, I was in the warm circle of his arms.
         “Promise me,” I whispered as I looked up at him, studying his warm hazel eyes and hoping with every fiber of my being that I wasn’t making the biggest mistake of my life, throwing away someone that was undeniably good to me. A choice had to be made and a chance had to be taken. As he nodded and began to respond, I allowed myself to crash in to him, with a reckless abandon I can only describe as the most liberating feeling I’ve ever experienced.
         I will never forget the taste of those lips, soft and friendly, or the warmth of his breath as it fanned across my face when he drew away. We stood there, searching each other for an explanation or clarification of some sort. A spark? His eyes implored me. Yes, I’d felt something too, strongly undeniable, and I felt loudly alive because of it. There is nothing sweeter than forbidden fruit, once you allow yourself to taste it. If he closed the distance the second time or I did, I don’t remember. It didn't matter. In that room, he and I were the survivors of some great tragedy, our own secret holocaust. No one will ever appreciate a kiss the way I did that afternoon, if not for the electricity of his touch, for the stark dissimilarity of him to my boyfriend.
         As we left that room and the world started turning again, it dawned on me that I couldn’t continue this for a moment. How could I? I would have been lying to myself to say that I didn't want to be with the new guy. There was nothing left for me to do in my current relationship except fall apart. That would have killed me more than anything I’d experienced up to that point, I think. My boyfriend didn't deserve direct blows to his happiness. As long as he was blissfully ignorant, I could get him out, free and clear. My stepping outside the lines of teenage commitment jeopardized the happiness of someone who really cared about me. That is the only thing I regret, even now, looking back.
         Retrospectively, I cannot say that I would have done anything differently. In fact, I would have done everything exactly the same. Timing will make or break you, if you let it. I chose to fight it, even attempted to defeat it. As in most aspects of my life, I digressed from conventional morality, but perhaps, at least in my own selfish logic, it was for the best. That afternoon, over the course of five minutes, nothing changed as everything shifted. As time passes, I am able to see that I picked the right boy, and I’m happier because of it. But who’s to say that makes it okay? I am still the cheater, still the arrogant girl.