I blame Beyoncé. Damn that bronze-haired, glistening golden goddess for unexpectedly dropping an album that automatically swooped me into my feelings. Like the rest of the free world, I played her fifth album on repeat as soon as it dropped. After the 4444th listen, I realized that Bey wasn’t making music for all the single ladies anymore – she was doing it for the lovers. The committed. The dateable. Listening to her gush about her fantastic husband and their fantastic marriage and their fantastic sex life made me want everything that she has. I wanted a Blue. And I wanted a boo.
It didn’t help that Peter kept texting me sweet nothings. After he revealed that he wanted me back that previous week, it’s like we picked up where we left off…and hang glided over the whole broken promises, broken dates and the oh-I-forgot-to-mention-that-I-now-have-a-girlfriend territory. He actually reassured me that the girl on his Instagram wasn’t his girlfriend…just a girl who was a friend. But whatever.
I think that you’re probably asleep, he texted at 2AM on a Tuesday, But I can’t wait to talk to you later. I really really like you and I don’t want to lose you again. I melted into my floral print duvet. Sweetest. Thing. Evs. We made plans to meet up for drinks that next afternoon. I invited him to come over to my place afterwards. He told me that he was in the market for a new apartment, and I happened to be selling mine. Romance and real estate. How hot is that?
On Wednesday morning, I buried myself in a string of “how to kiss like a pro” YouTube tutorials, cleaned my place from top to bottom and shaved and buffed and exfoliated myself to chocolaty perfection. We were meeting at 5, so I aimed to leave my apartment at 4. Right before I pulled on my coat, I got a text from him. It’s so cold outside. Uhh, duh. Usually I don’t mind the weather, but I’m anemic. Okay…? My cousin and I made plans to hit Busboys & Poets last week. Let me see if he still wants to go. Wtf. Do you want to just come with us? How about hell no? I hate the fact that it gets so dark so early. Sigh. Can we just meet tomorrow?
He hit me with like 500 excuses in the span of five minutes. I felt stupid and humiliated. Why would he ask me out if he didn’t want to meet up? Why would he say that he wanted me back when he continued to pull away? But what really made me mad was how stupid I was. I let him come back. I let him play around with my feelings once again. I’m the one who added him on Instagram and gave him my number and listened to Beyoncé and thought that he’d be my Christmas miracle of a boyfriend.
I didn’t make any New Year’s resolutions because I seldom keep them. But the one thing that I cannot let myself do this year is allow someone who’s obviously not right for me to remain around. I can’t trapeze in and out of the friendzone or settle for less than what I deserve. Peter was a mistake – a huge one – but he taught me a valuable lesson for once and for all. I think.
When she’s not watching for Blue Ivy sightings or doing some serious Facebook creeping, Khalea moonlights as a print journalism major at the REAL HU, Howard University. Follow her on Twitter at @letsbeKHAlear, or feel free to Twatch. Whatever works for you.