Broke Boyfriend Quotes

I, um, I have this problem. I broke up with my boyfriend, you see. And I'm pretty upset about it, so I wanted to talk to my best friend. [...] The thing is, they're both you.

If he’s not gay and he hung out with you the whole time, he wanted to be. It’s boyfriend or want to be boyfriend or I guess gay. Those are the choices.

Being alone is not the most awful thing in the world. You visit your museums and cultivate your interests and remind yourself how lucky you are not to be one of those spindly Sudanese children with flies beading their mouths. You make out To Do lists - reorganise linen cupboard, learn two sonnets. You dole out little treats to yourself - slices of ice-cream cake, concerts at Wigmore Hall. And then, every once in a while, you wake up and gaze out of the window at another bloody daybreak, and think, I cannot do this anymore. I cannot pull myself together again and spend the next fifteen hours of wakefulness fending off the fact of my own misery. People like Sheba think that they know what it's like to be lonely. They cast their minds back to the time they broke up with a boyfriend in 1975 and endured a whole month before meeting someone new. Or the week they spent in a Bavarian steel town when they were fifteen years old, visiting their greasy-haired German pen pal and discovering that her hand-writing was the best thing about her. But about the drip drip of long-haul, no-end-in-sight solitude, they know nothing. They don't know what it is to construct an entire weekend around a visit to the laundrette. Or to sit in a darkened flat on Halloween night, because you can't bear to expose your bleak evening to a crowd of jeering trick-or-treaters. Or to have the librarian smile pityingly and say, ‘Goodness, you're a quick reader!’ when you bring back seven books, read from cover to cover, a week after taking them out. They don't know what it is to be so chronically untouched that the accidental brush of a bus conductor's hand on your shoulder sends a jolt of longing straight to your groin. I have sat on park benches and trains and schoolroom chairs, feeling the great store of unused, objectless love sitting in my belly like a stone until I was sure I would cry out and fall, flailing, to the ground. About all of this, Sheba and her like have no clue.

I opened my mouth and kissed you then, the first time all night, attacked you and surrendered completely, and let’s get out of here. I’m ready, I’m finished, let’s not break up, no, no. Take me home, my boyfriend, my love.

An ache filled my chest, so sharp that I gasped out loud. Was this what a broken heart felt like? Was it possible to die from the pain? I’d always thought the girls at school so dramatic; when they broke up with their boyfriends, they cried and carried on for weeks. I didn’t think they needed to throw such a fuss. But I’d never been in love before.

Some women would not cheat, and some would not have cheated, had they each married a man whom they love … or at least like.

I would have gone to hell and back for you, Ash. Anything. I would have done anything, but instead you broke my psyche.

Emma rose to her feet, facing the faerie across the fleeing crowd. Gleaming from his weathered, barklike face, his eyes were yellow as a cat's. "Shadowhunter," he hissed. Emma reached back over her shoulder and closed her hand around the hilt of her sword, Cortana. The blade made a golden blur in the air as she drew it and pointed the tip at the fey. "No," she said. "I'm a candygram. This is my costume." The faerie looked puzzled. Emma sighed. "It's so hard to be sassy to the Fair Folk. You people never get jokes." "We are well known for our jests, japes, and ballads," the faerie said, clearly offended. "Some of our ballads last for weeks." "I don't have that kind of time," Emma said. "I'm a Shadowhunter. Quip fast, die young." She wiggled Cortana's tip impatiently. "Now turn out your pockets." "I have done nothing to break the Cold Peace," said the fey. "Technically true, but we do frown on stealing from mundanes," Emma said. "Turn out your pockets or I'll rip off one of your horns and shove it where the sun doesn't shine." The fey looked puzzled. "Where does the sun not shine? Is this a riddle?" Emma gave a martyred sigh and raised Cortana. "Turn them out, or I'll start peeling your bark off. My boyfriend and I just broke up, and I'm not in the best mood." The faerie began slowly to empty his pockets onto the ground, glaring at her all the while. "So you're single," he said. "I never would have guessed.

Of all the things that have happened tonight, that’s what affects me most. The way he so effortlessly drops his bags to catch her. I don’t have much reference since Neil was my one serious boyfriend, though I know he never would have dropped his bags to catch me lest something broke. That causes an ache deep in my chest. To know that there are guys willing to drop their shopping bags to catch their girl. And I want someone to love me that effortlessly.

My boyfriend and I broke up. He wanted to get married adn I didn't want him to.

Addie, please." More tears dripped down her cheeks. "Don't be so hard." "Oh, please," I muttered...and that was as far as I got. 'You broke my heart' were the words that had risen to my mouth, but I couldn't say them. That was what you said to a boyfriend, a lover, not your best friend. She'd laugh. And I'd had enough of being laughed at. I'd worked hard to get to a place where it didn't happen anymore, where I didn't move through life like a walking target, where it was just me and my paints and brushes and my big empty bed every night. "You weren't a good friend," I said instead.

I, um, I have this problem. I broke up with my boyfriend, you see. And I'm pretty upset about it, so I wanted to talk to my best friend." She swallowed and looked at the black ground. "The thing is, they're both you.

The last man she'd dated said something to her, shortly before they broke up: 'I don't know, maybe I'm boring, but I never really feel like you're there when we're out to dinner. You live in your head. I can't. No room for me in there. I don't know, maybe you'd be more interested in me if I were a book.' She had hated him at the time, and hated herself a little, but later, looking back, Hutter had decided that even if that particular boyfriend had been a book, he would've been one from the Business & Finance aisle and she would've passed him by and looked for something in SF & Fantasy.

I was driving with Arrow the other day, and from the back seat she said, 'I wish we moved into that house we were going to move into.' A house we didn't move into because it was my boyfriend's house and we broke up. I said, 'I'm sorry honey. Why do you wish we'd moved in there?' And she said, 'Because if we moved in there, we'd find all the things we thought that we had lost.

I love that I am but one of millions of single girls hitting the road by themselves these days. A hateful little ex-boyfriend once said that a houseful of cats used to be the sign of a terminally single woman, but not it's a house full of souvenirs acquired on foreign adventures. He said it derogatorily: Look at all of this tragic overcompensating in the form of tribal masks and rain sticks. But I say that plane tickets replacing cats might be the best evidence of women's progress as a gender. I'm damn proud of us. Also, since I have both a cat and a lot of foreign souvenirs, I broke up with that dude and went on a really great trip.

You're in trouble. Do you expect me to just walk away?" "I wouldn't hold it against you if you did." "In know you wouldn't. That's only one of the reasons I'm crazy about you. I've got a million more." "Just a million?" "Okay, a million plus one—your cat." She giggled. "You're bonding with Saladin?" "Somebody has to protect that cat from your cousin Ian. And I feed him. The cat. Not Ian. He's on his own. Anyway, if that doesn't get me Perfect Boyfriend status, I don't know what will." "Emptying the litter box?" "Hey. I have my limits." Amy laughed. She had the phone pressed to her ear so tightly it burned. She closed her eyes, picturing his face... Ian's crisp voice broke in. "All right, lovebirds, let's move on. No offense, but I believe Amy and Dan might need a short course in style and class." "Is this the nonoffensive part?" Dan asked. "I can't wait until you really insult us." "Let's deal with reality, shall we? You don't just walk into an auction house in your jeans and backpacks. You have to blend in. And that's going to be hard." Ian sniffed. "Considering that you're Americans." "What are you talking about, dude?" Dan asked. "This is my best SpongeBob T-shirt.

But for the moment, I just need to focus on me. My boyfriend (or lack thereof) can't be the most important thing about me. So screw plans and futures and heartache and all of that.

His Facebook post is pure Jamie: Hi all. I feel like a heel doing this over Facebook, but I can’t reach everyone by tomorrow. You’re all going to discuss me on Sunday, anyway. And in case you think my account was hacked, it wasn’t. As proof I’ll confess that I’m the one who broke Mom’s Christmas tree angel when I was seven. It was death by baseball, but I swear she didn’t suffer. Anyway, I have to catch you up on a few developments. I’ve taken the coaching job in Toronto, and I’ve declined my spot in Detroit. This feels like the right career move, but there’s something else. I’m living with my boyfriend (that was not a typo.) His name is Wes, and we met at Lake Placid about nine years ago. In case you were lacking something to talk about over dinner, I’ve fixed that problem. Love you all. Jamie

Some part of her always yearned for something that enveloped her not in a sense of passion but a calm care. She wanted someone she could rely on to not always expect her to perform. Someone who saw how quiet she was and respected it. Not that her ex-boyfriend didn't. It was the expectation the relationship put on her that broke her a little.

We were jealous, imagining a boyfriend who wanted you so bad he broke the law.

I talk shit about everybody and then sulk when they don't call me, my friends fall away like I've dropped them out of an airplane, my ex-boyfriend thinks I'm Hitler when he sees me.

Hey," Marshall said, leaning beside me. "You okay? You look supremely pissed." I smiled. "I'm absolutely fine." "Is your boyfriend here on a date with someone else? Did you guys break up or something?" He seemed to be mocking me. "Yep. We broke up," I said sarcastically. "I caught him sleeping with my sister and then she found out she was pregnant. It didn't work out between them, though, and he left her for that girl." I gestured at Sarah. "My sister's gonna take him on Jerry Springer." Marshall raised an eyebrow. "You don't have a sister." "And you don't have any brain cells.

don’t have anybody special in my life anymore. To be honest… that’s why I didn’t write you back for a while. My girl broke up with me right after I got here. It came out of nowhere. How long have you been with your boyfriend? Ice-skating

Dear Margot, You say that we had to break up because you don't want to go to college with a boyfriend, and you want your freedom, and you don't want to be held back. But you know and I know that's not the real reason You broke up with me because we had sex anf you were scared of getting close to me. Josh

Memphis broke their kiss. “Still my submissive bitch, huh?” he said, dimples flashing. “Always,” Tyler said with a grin

had a boyfriend in my early twenties named Amos, who liked being choked. It’s why we broke up—because I refused to choke him.

For someone who looks after hearts, you can be careless. You know you broke mine, don't you?

You are the absolute light of my life. My one true love. But I’m pretty sure you’re not going to die; it barely broke the skin.

For all I know, this man is her boyfriend. Or husband. I’m surprised to find I don’t care. I’m taking her home either way. If this prick is her boyfriend, they just broke up. If they’re married, we’ll get those papers signed. I’m not going anywhere without her.

Fuck u for saying I love u knowing u didn't mean what u said u when u know my uncle was dead telling people u broke up with me chatting on me with my bff knowing she a was wanting a boyfriend your a list to man kind making your gender look bad aka octravious Shelton we are over

Truth is, I couldn’t sleep because I broke up with my boyfriend last night and I’m dreading telling Nathan. Why? Because I know he’ll prod me with questions until he finds out the truth behind the breakup. And he can’t know that I broke up with Martin because Martin isn’t Nathan.

A person who has a strong attachment to the past, on the other hand, finds it hard to move on to a new relationship because she can’t forget the boyfriend she broke up with two years ago. She also finds it hard to try out new methods even when the current method is no longer effective because it worked up to this point.

Beth’s voice broke. “I can’t lose you guys.” And there it was. She sat here bleeding because she loved me and Isaiah. For the millionth time, I wished the system was a person. One person I could name, know and hold responsible for screwing every single one of us. Right now, Beth’s mom’s new boyfriend would have to do.

What isn’t scary can do you in. Snacking doesn’t intimidate anybody. Neither does watching TV. Or sitting in a movie with a large drink and so much popcorn that it comes in a tub. Driving to work and parking in the garage doesn’t upset any applecarts, but riding your bike and asking for a place to lock it up just might. Suggesting to your boyfriend that you’d like to go to the soup-and-salad place instead of the he-man chuck-wagon could be awkward…[but] you are committed to living fully. You are going to take care of you, no matter who suggests that you’re selfish or full of yourself. Living well will give you the emotional energy you need to fulfill your destiny.

He’d wanted to accompany her, but both of them knew it’d be smarter for him to stay home. In other words, neither of them trusts me. And who can really blame them? The last time they both went away together, a stalker broke into our house, our basement turned into a scene out of Fright Night, and I nearly gave my boyfriend a concussion.

I hurried over to Conrad, walking so fast I kicked up sand behind me. “Hey, I’m gonna get a ride,” I said breathlessly. The blond Red Sox girl looked me up and down. “Hello,” she said. Conrad said, “With who?” I pointed at Cam. “Him.” “You’re not riding with someone you don’t even know,” he said flatly. “I do so know him. He’s Sextus.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sex what?” “Never mind. His name is Cam, he’s studying whales, and you don’t get to decide who I ride home with. I was just letting you know, as a courtesy. I wasn’t asking for your permission.” I started to walk away, but he grabbed my elbow. “I don’t care what he’s studying. It’s not gonna happen,” he said casually, but his grip was tight. “If you want to go, I’ll take you.” I took a deep breath. I had to keep cool. I wasn’t going to let him goad me into being a baby, not in front of all these people. “No, thanks,” I said, trying to walk away again. But he didn’t let go. “I thought you already had a boyfriend?” His tone was mocking, and I knew he’d seen through my lie the night before. I wanted so badly to throw a handful of sand in his face. I tried to twist out of his grip. “Let go of me! That hurts!” He let go immediately, his face red. It didn’t really hurt, but I wanted to embarrass him the way he was embarrassing me. I said loudly, “I’d rather ride with a stranger than with someone who’s been drinking!” “I’ve had one beer,” he snapped. “I weigh a hundred and seventy-five pounds. Wait half an hour and I’ll take you. Stop being such a brat.” I could feel tears starting to spark my eyelids. I looked over my shoulder to see if Cam was watching. He was. “You’re an asshole,” I said. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “And you’re a four-year-old.” As I walked away, I heard the girl ask, “Is she your girlfriend?” I whirled around, and we both said “No!” at the same time. Confused, she said, “Well, is she your little sister?” like I wasn’t standing right there. Her perfume was heavy. It felt like it filled all the air around us, like we were breathing her in. “No, I’m not his little sister.” I hated this girl for being a witness to all this. It was humiliating. And she was pretty, in the same kind of way Taylor was pretty, which somehow made things worse. Conrad said, “Her mom is best friends with my mom.” So that was all I was to him? His mom’s friend’s daughter? I took a deep breath, and without even thinking, I said to the girl, “I’ve known Conrad my whole life. So let me be the one to tell you you’re barking up the wrong tree. Conrad will never love anyone as much as he loves himself, if you know what I mean-“ I lifted up my hand and wiggled my fingers. “Shut up, Belly,” Conrad warned. The tops of his ears were turning bright red. It was a low blow, but I didn’t care. He deserved it. Red Sox girl frowned. “What is she talking about, Conrad?” To her I blurted out, “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not know what the idiom ‘barking up the wrong tree’ means?” Her pretty face twisted. “You little skank,” she hissed. I could feel myself shrinking. I wished I could take it back. I’d never gotten into a fight with a girl before, or with anyone for that matter. Thankfully, Conrad broke in then and pointed to the bonfire. “Belly, go back over there, and wait for me to come get you,” he said harshly. That’s when Jeremiah ambled over. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” he asked, smiling in his easy, goofy way. “Your brother is a jerk,” I said. “That’s what’s going on.” Jeremiah put his arm around me. He smelled like beer. “You guys play nice, you hear?” I shrugged out of his hold and said, “I am playing nice. Tell your brother to play nice.” “Wait, are you guys brother and sister too?” the girl asked. Conrad said, “Don’t even think about leaving with that guy.

Never again. You broke my heart, but not my spirit. I let you take my happiness for awhile, but not anymore because I’m too pretty not to smile. I feel so lonely and confused, but thank God I’m never alone. You hurt me so bad, but this, too, shall pass. You made me cry, but God will wipe the tears from my eyes. I sacrificed so much for you, but God will replenish. Everything you took from me, God will restore back to me. You diminished my trust in men, but thank God I still trust in the man above. You controlled me with lies and manipulation, but God still controls my destination. Right now it’s hard for me to see anything but me and you, but I still believe there will be a breakthrough. Not anymore. Never again. No more waiting. Never again.

The most interesting people doing this work are the ones who can hold on to both ideas rather than just giving simple and pious-sounding statements…like ‘This is a health issue, not a crime.’ When at the same time you have addicted people who are committing crimes, including violent crimes, you have to [deliver justice] for the woman whose [drug-using] boyfriend just broke her nose.

Homewrecker" Every boyfriend is the one Until otherwise proven The good are never easy The easy never good And love it never happens like you think it really should Deception and perfection are wonderful traits One will breed love The other hate You'll find me in the lonely hearts Under 'I'm after a brand new start' And I don't belong to anyone They call me Homewrecker Homewrecker They call me Homewrecker Homewrecker Girls and their curls and their gourmet vomit Boys and their toys and their six inch rockets We're all very lovely 'til we get to know each other As we stop becoming friends and we start becoming lovers And I don't belong to anyone They call me Homewrecker Homewrecker (I'm only happy when I'm on the run) They call me Homewrecker Homewrecker (I broke a million hearts just for fun) They call me Homewrecker Homewrecker (I'm only happy when I'm on the run) They call me Homewrecker Homewrecker (I broke a million hearts just for fun) I'm only happy when I'm on the run I break a million hearts just for fun I don't belong to anyone I guess you could say that my life's a mess But I'm still looking pretty in this dress I'm the image of deception When everything is life and death You may feel like there's nothing left Instead of love and trust and laughter What you get is happy never after But deep down all you want is love The pure kind we all dream of But we cannot escape the past So you and I will never last 'Cause I'm a Homewrecker Homewrecker (I'm only happy when I'm on the run) 'Cause I'm a Homewrecker Homewrecker (I broke a million hearts just for fun) 'Cause I'm a Homewrecker Homewrecker (I'm only happy when I'm on the run) 'Cause I'm a Homewrecker Homewrecker (I broke a million hearts just for fun) 'Cause I'm a Homewrecker Homewrecker

Only children can get spoiled. You have to have at least two. Siblings are important. And if we start with two boys, we have to have a girl because brothers should have a sister. But if we start with two girls, we have to go for a boy because sisters should have a brother. I always wanted a brother. A son of my father would have been able to beat the shit out of boyfriends that broke my heart. I wouldn’t have had to resort to cookie dough and it would have saved Scott a lot of money in divorce attorneys, seeing as he’d still be in a coma.” I stopped

He lowered his head, and she went to give him a friendly, perfunctory kiss (she hadn’t cleaned her teeth; she was impatient for her coffee) but the kiss turned unexpectedly lovely and she felt that ticklish, teary feeling behind her eyes as a lifetime of kisses filled her head: from the very first brand-new-boyfriend kiss, to “You may kiss the bride,” to the unshaven, shell-shocked, red-eyed kiss after Madison was born, to that aching, beautiful kiss after she broke up with Dominick and told Nick (standing in the car park of McDonald’s, the kids arguing in the backseat of the car), “Will you please come back home now?

Before I knew what I was doing, I was out of my seat and rushing up toward the railing that divided the seats from the field. I had to make sure he was okay. I couldn’t just sit here and watch him lie there in pain. I heard my name called, but I ignored it as I flung my leg over the top railing and prepared to hoist myself over. One of the guys working security happened to see me and he rushed over and ordered me to stop. “I can’t. That’s my…” My voice broke. I couldn’t force the word boyfriend between my lips. It just wasn’t enough. It just didn’t describe how desperate I was to get to him. “He’s my everything,” I finished. The security guard gave me a grim look. “You can’t come on the field.” A lone tear tracked its way down my cheek, and I craned my neck. Frustrated, I glanced up at the big screen to see if it was showing a different angle. But they weren’t playing Romeo. They were focused on me. I blinked at the site of me half straddling the railing and the security guard standing there with a grim look on his face as he stared me down. My cheeks were red, behind my glasses, my eyes wild. I turned away from the screen, irritated that they weren’t focused on Romeo. I glanced at the guard. “I’m coming over.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if to say, I dare you. I flung my other leg over so I was balanced on the bottom rung. “This is your last warning,” the guard shouted. The crowd started to cheer and go wild. Romeo’s number started filling the air. I looked up. He was okay! He was on his feet, helmet in hand, and laughing at something Braeden was saying. Beside him, the coach looked relieved, and all the Wolves were clapping. The guy who’d mowed him down was being escorted off the field. Jackass. Relief made me weak and a sob caught in my throat. I sagged back against the cold metal of the rails. The guard gestured for backup, and a few others that were dressed just like him started my way. I mean, really. He was being a bit dramatic. I was only one girl. And a small one at that.

Before Bryce could say anything else, Kaleb dropped Bryce's hand and threw his arms around him, squeezing tightly. Bryce rubbed Kaleb's back and kissed his neck. "Whatever it is we'll get through it." Kaleb loosened his hold and Bryce moved back up the bed, laying back and holding his arms out for his boyfriend. Kaleb hesitated a moment, as unused to cuddling as Bryce was. "Let me hold you?" Bryce asked. Kaleb nodded tiredly and climbed up on the bed, resting his head on Bryce's chest. Sifting his fingers through Kaleb's hair, he murmured, "Just rest. You're safe now." Kaleb shifted, propped himself up on his elbow, and looked down at him in silence. Bryce smiled softly, wondering what he was thinking. Very slowly, Kaleb lowered his head and brushed a kiss on Bryce's lips, then against his forehead. He nudged Bryce's mouth open with his own and filled it with his tongue. Bryce groaned, meeting him stroke for stroke, grabbing the back of his head, and kissing Kaleb breathless. Abruptly, Kaleb broke contact and sat up to do away with the rest of his clothes. Bryce did the same, tossing his sleeping shorts across the room, and got on his hands and knees in front of his lover. Kaleb's arms looped around him and lips trailed from his tailbone up to the nape of his neck. "Not this time," Kaleb said softly at his ear, and rolled Bryce to his back.

For the next nine months, Sylvia would report on campus trends, politics, tastes, style. It was an honor, but it was grueling. Sylvia was overworked. She had boyfriend problems. She longed for Europe. She broke her leg in a skiing accident. Her best friend, Marcia Brown, had gotten engaged and moved off campus - other girls were away on their junior year abroad. The whole campus seemed mired in some bleak haze- there were suicide attempts, abortions, disappearances, and hasty marriages. Sylvia coped with shopping binges in downtown Northhampton- sheer blouses, French pumps, red cashmere sweaters, white skirts, and tight black pullovers - clothes more suited to voguish amusements than studying. Everyone wanted to be one of Mademoiselle's guest editors, but Sylvia needed it - some shot of glamour to pull her out of the mud.

When I deliver Spirit’s messages, I have no filter—zero, zip, none. I picture my cranium like spaghetti in a colander. My brain’s the pasta, the water is the information pouring over and through it, and then the messages come right out of the holes that are my voice, expression, and mannerisms. I should learn to watch my mouth, though. A lot of times there’s no proper way to say the stuff Spirit tells me, so I just blurt it out. I was doing a restaurant venue of eighty people, and there was a girl there who lost her brother. I turned to her and said, “Your brother wants you to get rid of your boyfriend. He’s no good.” But get this—the boyfriend was sitting right next to her! So I announced that if I had four slashed tires at the end of the group, we’d all know who did it. The girl broke up with the guy four months later, but that’s beside the point. Or is it?

1. All-or-Nothing Thinking The tendency to think in extremes like “always” and “never” without considering nuanced degrees between. “My boyfriend broke up with me; I always ruin my relationships.” 2. Overgeneralization The tendency to make broad assumptions based on limited specifics. “If one person thinks I’m stupid, everyone will.” 3. Mental Filter The tendency to focus on small negative details to the exclusion of the big picture. “My A+ average doesn’t matter; I got a C on an assignment.” 4. Disqualifying the Positive The tendency to dismiss positive aspects of an experience for irrational reasons. “If my friend compliments me, she is probably just saying it out of pity.” 5. Jumping to Conclusions The tendency to make unfounded, negative assumptions, often in the form of attempted mind reading or fortune telling. “If my romantic interest doesn’t text me today, he must not be interested.” 6. Catastrophizing The tendency to magnify or minimize certain details of an experience, painting it as worse or more severe than it is. “If my wife leaves me, then I will never be able to recover from my misery.” 7. Emotional Reasoning The tendency to take one’s emotions as evidence of objective truth. “If I feel offended by someone else’s remark, then he must have wronged me.” 8. Should Statements The tendency to apply rigid rules to how one “should” or “must” behave. “My friend criticized my attitude, and that is something that friends should never do.” 9. Labeling The tendency to describe oneself in the form of absolute labels. “If I make a calculation error, it makes me a total idiot.” 10. Personalization The tendency to attribute negative outcomes to oneself without evidence. “If my wife is in a bad mood, then I must have done something to upset her.

Shanks snickered with delight. “It’s the end result that matters, doll. Only the victor walks away with his head intact. Every soldier on this ship knows that as well.” Eena glared hard at the smirking giant. “Oh, and one more thing. Kira really hates you.” Shanks broke out in such a fit of laughter that even Kode found it contagious. Niki smacked her boyfriend on the back of the head for being insensitive. (Kira did not say that,) Ian groaned critically. (So what? It’s true,) Eena grumbled. (I hate him too.) (I don’t know why you let the guy get under your skin. Who cares what he thinks? You have nothing to prove to him.) Eena glared harder at the laughing Viidun as she thought about what bothered her most. It was the way Shanks acted, as if he considered himself superior to everyone. The thug was always bossing people around, snubbing their opinions, surpassing others at even the most trivial accomplishments. But the worst thing was that he honestly saw himself as invincible. (The guy is full of himself, so what? Just let it roll off your back.) If only simple advice were as simple to carry out.

You look…exactly the same.” Gulp. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? “I do?” I get up on my tiptoes. “I think I’ve grown at least an inch since eighth grade.” And my boobs are at least a little bigger. Not much. Not that I want John to notice--I’m just saying. “No, you look…just like how I remembered you.” John Ambrose reaches out, and I think he’s trying to hug me but he’s only trying to take my bag from me, and there’s a brief but strange dance that mortifies me but he doesn’t seem to notice. “So thanks for inviting me.” “Thanks for coming.” “Do you want me to take this stuff up for you?” “Sure,” I say. John takes the bag from me and looks inside. “Oh, wow. All of our old snacks! Why don’t you climb up first and I’ll pass it to you.” So that’s what I do: I scramble up the ladder and he climbs up behind me. I’m crouched, arms outstretched, waiting for him to pass me the bag. But when he gets halfway up the ladder, he stops and looks up at me and says, “You still wear your hair in fancy braids.” I touch my side braid. Of all the things to remember about me. Back then, Margot was the one who braided my hair. “You think it looks fancy?” “Yeah. Like…expensive bread.” I burst out laughing. “Bread!” “Yeah. Or…Rapunzel.” I get down on my stomach, wriggle over to the edge, and pretend like I’m letting down my hair for him to climb. He climbs up to the top of the ladder and passes me the bag, which I take, and then he grins at me and gives my braid a tug. I’m still lying down but feel an electric charge like he’s zapped me. I’m suddenly feeling very anxious about the worlds that will be colliding, the past and the present, a pen pal and a boyfriend, all in this little tree house. Probably I should have thought this through a bit better. But I was so focused on the time capsule, and the snacks, and the idea of it--old friends coming back together to do what we said we’d do. And now here we are, in it. “Everything okay?” John asks, offering me his hand as I rise to my feet. I don’t take his hand; I don’t want another zap. “Everything’s great,” I say cheerily. “Hey, you never sent back my letter,” he says. “You broke an unbreakable vow.” I laugh awkwardly. I’d kind of been hoping he wouldn’t bring that up. “It was too embarrassing. The things I wrote. I couldn’t bear the thought of another person seeing it.” “But I already saw it,” he reminds me.

I steel my spine. “I told you, you can’t have me again.” “Is it because you have a boyfriend?” “I don’t have—” Oh, fuck. Joe. I keep forgetting about him. “No. Not because of him. We broke up anyway.” Why did I just say that? Joe was a solid alibi. “You don’t seem too upset about that.” I shrug. “It was inevitable. Long distance and all.” He seems to weigh that for a moment. “So, you’re single again?” I’m struggling to suppress my smile. Shane so blatantly pursuing me isn’t as easy to shrug off as I expected. “More like happily unattached.” “Is it because you’re not attracted to me anymore?” He manages a straight face for all of two seconds before it splits into a smug grin. I can’t help my laugh, even as my cheeks flush. We both know damn well that I am; he’s caught me gawking too many times to argue otherwise. “Someone came back from his brush with nature loving himself a bit too much.” I’m sure it serves him well when he’s posing for calendars and selling his wares on stage for charity come December. “Nah.” He reaches out to snap a spent Shasta daisy off its stem. “I just had a lot of time to think about things while I was away. About things I want in life.

He experienced a range of intense and unpleasant side effects [on puberty blockers], as he tried different doses. ‘On one of them I had really bad insomnia. And another one, I had really bad anger problems.’ … ‘Your mood goes like it’s a roller coaster,’ he explains. ‘There are moments when you’re euphorically happy. The next day, you crash really bad and you are exhausted. And then you’re really, really depressed, like, suicidal depressed.’ Jacob says he had felt depressed before starting on puberty blockers and had experienced anxiety… ‘On the blockers I broke my wrist twice, my knuckles, my toe. It really ruins your bone density.’ Four broken bones in just a few years…As Jacob’s health deteriorated and his puberty continued to ‘break through’, he grew increasingly distressed…After more than four years on the blocker, Jacob felt worse than he ever had before the medication. While his friends were getting their first boyfriends and girlfriends, experiencing their first kisses and sexual experiences, he felt nothing. ‘You have no desire, no drive whatsoever,’ he says. ‘You don’t even feel attracted to people.’ … Emotionally, he felt years younger than his peers. Michelle noticed it too. And physically, Jacob had stopped growing.

Korie: Willie and I dated for about eight months, and then I was getting ready to leave for school at Harding University. Willie was still attending seminary school, and I wanted him to go to Harding University with me. But Willie said he wasn’t leaving West Monroe. He wanted me to stay in West Monroe with him. We broke up before I left for school in August, and I’m sure he thought I’d find someone else at college, because that’s what typically happens when you leave home. Willie called me one night in September 1991 after I had been gone a few weeks and said, “Let’s get back together.” I knew I loved him, but I told him I wasn’t sure about it. He was trying to change my life, and it was really his way or no way. I just didn’t know what to do. “Let me think about it,” I said. “I’ll call you back tomorrow.” I was convinced she’d found someone else. I was telling all my buddies that it was over between us, and I was gathering other girls’ phone numbers to prepare myself to move on. I just knew it was over, and I wasn’t waiting to hear it from her the next day. I was convinced she wanted to end our relationship but couldn’t muster the courage to tell me. Korie called me the next day, and I was ready to tell her that I didn’t want to get back together anymore and that our relationship was over. I was certainly going to end it before she ended it. I just knew she already had a new boyfriend at Harding. “I’ve got something I want to tell you,” Korie told me. “What do you want to say?” I asked her, deciding I’d better hear her out first. “Let’s get back together,” she said. My ears started buzzing. I threw all the girls’ phone numbers in the trash can. About a month later, Korie and I decided we were going to get married. Korie: I had turned eighteen in October 1991, so legally I was allowed to do whatever I wanted. But I knew I had to call my parents, Johnny and Chrys, to get their permission. We had had some discussions about my getting married that summer that had not gone so well, so I knew they were not going to be excited about it. I mustered up the courage to make the phone call. “Look, I’m legal, so I’m just going to say it,” I told them. “I’m getting married, and you’re going to have to be behind me or not.” Of course, my parents told me it was the worst idea ever, and they were naturally worried that I was going to leave school and come home. They asked me to at least wait until I’d finished college. I hung up the phone and called Willie immediately. “I just told them and it didn’t go so well,” I blurted out. “They’ve already called me and they’re on their way over here,” he said.

After class is over, I wait for Peter outside the boys’ locker room, planning out what I’m going to say, how I’m going to explain it. I’ll start out with, “So about this morning…,” and then I’ll give a little laugh, like how hilarious was that! Peter’s the last one to come out. His hair is wet from a shower. It’s weird that boys take showers at school, since girls never do. I wonder if they have stalls in there, or just a bunch of shower heads and no privacy. “Hey,” he says when he sees me, but he doesn’t stop. To his back I hurriedly say, “So about this morning…” I laugh, and Peter turns around and just looks at me. “Oh yeah. What was that all about?” “It was a dumb joke,” I begin. Peter crosses his arms and leans against the lockers. “Did it have anything to do with that letter you sent me?” “No. I mean, yes. Tangentially.” “Look,” he says kindly. “I think you’re cute. In a quirky way. But Gen and I just broke up, and I’m not in a place right now where I want be somebody’s boyfriend. So…” My mouth drops. Peter Kavinsky is giving me the brush-off! I don’t even like him, and he’s giving me the brush-off. Also, “quirky”? How am I “quirky”? “Cute in a quirky way” is an insult. A total insult! He’s still talking, still giving me the kind eyes. “I mean, I’m definitely flattered. That you would like me all this time--it’s flattering, you know?” That’s enough. That’s plenty enough. “I don’t like you,” I say, loudly. “So there’s no reason you should feel flattered.” Now it’s Peter’s turn to look taken aback. He quickly looks around to see if anyone heard. He leans forward and whispers, “Then why did you kiss me?” “I kissed you because I don’t like you,” I explain, like this should be obvious.

Most of the information on this topic is crap.” “What do you mean by that?” Crade demanded. We all looked at him, because in an instant he had become markedly defensive. Sammann raised his eyes from the screen of the jeejah and gazed interestedly at Crade. He let a few moments go by, then responded in a calm and matter-of-fact tone: “Anyone can post information on any topic. The vast majority of what’s on the Reticulum is, therefore, crap. It has to be filtered. The filtering systems are ancient. My people have been improving them, and their interfaces, since the time of the Reconstitution. They are to us what the Mynster is to Fraa Erasmas and his kind. When I look at a given topic I don’t just see information about that topic. I see meta-information that tells me what the filtering systems learned when they were conducting the search. If I look up analemma, the filtering system tells me that only a few sources have provided information about this and that they are mostly of high repute—they are avout. If I look up the name of a popular music star who just broke up with her boyfriend,” Sammann continued, nodding at a tearful female on the speely, “the filtering system tells me that a vast amount of data has been posted on this topic quite recently, mostly of very low repute. When I look up the excavation of the Temple of Orithena on the Island of Ecba, the filtering system informs me that people of very high and very low repute have been posting on this topic, slowly but steadily, for seven centuries.” Sammann’s explanation had failed if its purpose had been to settle Crade down. “What’s an example of a person of high repute? Some fraa sitting in a concent?” “Yes,” Sammann said. “And what would a low-repute source be?” “A conspiracy theorist. Or anyone who makes a lot of long rambling posts that are only read by like-minded sorts.

Fuck u for saying I love u knowing u didn't mean what u said u when u know my uncle was dead telling people u broke up with me chatting on me with my bff knowing she a was wanting a boyfriend your a list to man kind making your gender look bad aka i dont have to say who u are u know u are OVER

Fuck u for saying I love u knowing u didn't mean what u said u when u know my uncle was dead telling people u broke up with me cheating on me with my bff knowing she a was wanting a boyfriend your a lier to man kind making your gender look bad aka i dont have to say who u are u know u are OVER

sorry, Mr. McCoy,” Sara Doolan sing-songed, sounding not the least bit sorry. “But, see, I broke curfew last night and my mom says I’m grounded tonight? Like, my boyfriend’s car broke down and we couldn’t get home? And now my mom’s so pissed off? And she’s grounded me?

Here are the rules for five-star babysitting of the Craig’s List high order: 1) Be firm, but willing to compromise; a half-hour of G.I Joe or Pokemon after bedtime in exchange for a couple hours of peace and quiet is more priceless than Van Gogh. Compromise. If you give them something they want, they’ll end up tucked in before the boyfriend sends you a sext message. 2) If compromise isn’t an option, go for Valium—or at least Xanax. Most moms have it in the medicine cabinet. And if you mix it with milk, you’ll still be good for happy hour. 3) When all else fails, go for broke: cry. Crying, for a nineyear- old, is tantamount to getting whacked with a wooden spoon until cookies give you PTSD. But the biggest rule, the one that breaking will definitely earn you a pink slip; the one you’d have to be a supreme knucklehead or complete noob to break—the one thing in all of the sitting profession that is the golden rule is: do not lose the kid. That’s kind of the big one.

I had a boyfriend. We recently broke up.” I nodded my head stupidly, as if to punctuate this thought. “Why?” Sharif asked. “Was he too boring for you? Not fun enough?” “Um. No. It just didn’t work out.” “Oh. I cannot believe you do not have a friend,” Sharif countered. “No. Nope. I don’t. I did.” “Do you want me to find one for you?” Sharif asked. To recap: The militants were gaining strength along the border with Afghanistan and staging increasingly bold attacks in the country’s cities. The famed Khyber Pass, linking Pakistan and Afghanistan, was now too dangerous to drive. The country appeared as unmoored and directionless as a headless chicken. And here was Sharif, offering to find me a friend. Thank God the leaders of Pakistan had their priorities straight. “Sure. Why not?” I said. The

(One of the reasons we broke up. What's fine in a best friend can be deeply wrong in a boyfriend.)

And they answered that the ideal boyfriend would want them to thrive.

After my boyfriend of two years broke up with me, I could barely speak without crying. I felt blindsided and didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I could get him back and the anxiety was unbearable. I spell with Dr Eghika, not knowing fully what to expect but knowing I needed somebody who had been there before. I wanted our relationship back and so I wanted to make sure I had all the guidance and resources possible to do that. Dr Eghika was simply wonderful. His process of work is calming and I could tell that he genuinely cared. The things that he suggested I do to get [my boyfriend] back seemed difficult, but Erica warned me that they might be. But I knew I wanted to get him back, so I followed the plan she laid out for me and the things she ask me to buy which she also helped me out for. Within the week, me and my boyfriend were back together and we are so in love! I know that it doesn't always happen that quickly, but Erica said, in my case, it could happen that soon - and it did! I'm so grateful and can say that if you have been broken up with your lover and want to get that person back, Erica is the best! I'll never forget how much she helped me. Her contact are whatsapp +254-795-502824, email: emagicp101@gmail.com and website is www . ericaraven. webs . com

I don’t know how to explain it.” “That’s the beauty of love,” Pete sings. “I’m not in love with her,” I challenge. “Not yet. But there’s a possibility.” “Yeah.” A lot of possibility. I grin. “Doesn’t she have a boyfriend?” Logan asks. I shake my head. “Not anymore. They broke up.” Logan’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. “She gave me the impression that he didn’t like the idea of raising biracial kids.” I wince because I don’t even like saying it out loud. “How do you feel about that?” Logan asks. “Kids are kids,” I say. We have been exposed to so many types of people, and with Logan’s disability, we learned early what’s important in life. And now that Pete’s working with disabled kids and kids from the youth detention center, he often brings them home and we’re exposed even more. It doesn’t matter what your outsides look like; it’s your insides that count. “I want them almost as much as I want her,” I admit. “I’d be honored to have a place in their lives. Any place they’ll let me have.” Logan still looks flummoxed. “Stop looking at me like I’ve gone apeshit.” Logan shakes his head. “I’m just surprised,” he admits. “Me, too.

How’s your boyfriend?” I ask. I know Seth said they broke up, but I want to hear it from her. I won’t touch someone who is dating someone else. I have had enough heartbreak in that area to last a lifetime. “What boyfriend?” she asks. “Don’t give me hope if there is none,” I sing. But I’m serious. Totally serious. “We broke up.” “Are you devastated?” I want to know how she’s feeling. About all of it. “Elated,” she says instead. Thank God. A shiver crawls up my spine, because I’m seriously interested in this woman. “You sure you’re done with him?” “Positive.” She nods. Her eyes don’t leave mine. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me,” I warn. “You can try,” she says quietly.

My last two boyfriends broke up with me because I'm too intense. I work too much and I have strong religious views." That truth pained Kane to say, but he hoped it answered Avery's question.

On the bright side, I’ve got cupcakes.” Rylann pulled a dessert plate out of the box. “Ooh—nice. We can eat them on my very fancy and incomplete set of china.” She looked around. “Seriously, what am I going to do with five sets of dinnerware?” “You could…throw an elaborate dinner party for my imaginary boyfriend, your imaginary boyfriend, and their imaginary third-wheel friend who seemingly never has anything better to do?” Ouch. “Don’t laugh. After Jon and I broke up and he moved to Rome, I was that third-wheel friend,” Rylann said. Their closest friends in San Francisco had been “couple” friends, and after the breakup, she simply hadn’t fit in anymore. One of the many reasons she’d been looking for a fresh start in Chicago. “At least in this city, I’m a first wheel. A unicycle.” Rae laughed. “Very tricky business, unicycling. Particularly in your thirties.” “It’s not like I never dated before Jon. How different can it be?” “Oh, such naivete.” Rae sighed dramatically. “I remember when I, too, was once so hopeful and unjaded.

Seems to me that for you, evangelicalism is like the boyfriend you broke up with two years ago, but whose Facebook page you still check compulsively.

Libby Potter has just lost the perfect job, the perfect apartment and the perfect boyfriend. Moving back to the home town that she couldn’t wait to escape when she was younger was definitely not on her to-do list. Especially as it means running into the man whose heart she broke when she left.

You want to borrow my girlfriend?” Carson shouted later that afternoon, promptly dropping the box in his hands. The cardboard smashed onto the floor of Carson and Holly’s new glorious kitchen with a resounding thunk and the distinct sound of glass shattering. “My new plates!” Holly wailed, immediately sinking to her knees. She ripped open the tape closing the two flaps together and peered into the box then looked up at Carson in horror. “You’re a monster!” Carson scowled at her. “I’ll buy you new plates.” The scowl deepened. “That is, if I decide not to break up with you. I can’t believe this was your idea. I told Garrett you and Shelby shouldn’t hang out. The two of you are trouble together.” “They’re just trying to help me out,” Will pointed out, experiencing a jolt of sympathy at the despair on Holly’s face. He swiftly knelt down and tried to pry her hands out of the box. “Quit sticking your fingers in there, Hol. It’s filled with broken glass.” Carson let out an enraged roar. “Don’t you dare console my girlfriend. My girlfriend!” Holly got to her feet, planting her hands on her hips. “Now I’m definitely going,” she shot out. “You broke my plates.” “So you’re going to play house with my lieutenant as punishment?” “He’s in love with another woman!” “Well, I’m in love with you!” Holly’s eyes softened. “Doesn’t it make you love me more, knowing I’m willing to help out one of your friends?” A sigh slid out of Carson’s mouth. “What is it with you and helping people? Didn’t we just decide you’re not going to drop everything for your family anymore?” “This isn’t my family. It’s yours.” “Will and I aren’t related.” “You’re SEALs. Of course you’re related.” Another sigh. “Yeah, you’re right.” Carson took a step forward and pulled Holly into his arms. “Fine, you can go.” “Really?” “I just said it, didn’t I?” Holly threw her arms around her boyfriend. The two proceeded to make out as if Will wasn’t in the kitchen. He shook his head to himself. He wasn’t quite certain how they’d gone from furious to calm to horny in a matter of seconds, but he wasn’t complaining. Ever since Holly and Shelby had burst into his house this morning, he’d been warming up to the plan, starting to believe it might actually work. He was glad Carson hadn’t put up more of a fight. Slipping his hands in the pockets of his khakis, he let the couple smooch a while longer, then cleared his throat. “Uh, guys?” The two pulled apart sheepishly. “Sorry,” Holly said. “Forgot you were here.” Story of his life, women forgetting he was standing right in front of them. Hopefully not for much longer, though. “So how is this going to work?” Carson asked, bending down to retrieve the fallen box. He glanced at his girlfriend. “I’m sorry about the plates, sweetheart. We’ll go out and buy some tomorrow, ’kay?” “I’m holding you to that.” With a stern look, she headed for the fridge and grabbed a can of soda. Flicking the tab, she raised the can to her lips, sipped, and then said, “Will and I are going to Hunter Ridge tomorrow. Apparently there’s some fair going on this weekend.

I don’t.” I let that sink in before clearing my throat. “So your last boyfriend. You guys broke up because. . .?” “Because he said he loved me.” Wait, what? “Isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t that what girls want to hear?” “Yeah, if they love him back.” I wince. “That’s cold, Duchess.” “I know.” Macy’s face twists with remorse. “I felt awful about it. He was really sweet and so nice, but I just didn’t feel the same way and I knew I never would. So I broke it off.” “That poor bastard.” I mean it, too. I sure as hell wouldn’t want Macy to tell me to take a hike. “Did you at least give him breakup sex?” “No.” Macy looks scandalized that I even suggested such a thing. “Well now I really feel bad for him.” I laugh as she nudges my side with her shoulder. She presses her lips together, like she’s trying to stop herself from smiling. “He listed the states whenever we had sex, to keep from coming too early. ” I was wrong before. Now I’m laughing. “And when he finally came, he’d shout out whatever state he was on.” She closes her eyes and grunts, “Idaho!” I nearly piss myself from laughing so hard. It takes me a good minute to finally catch my breath. “Did he go in alphabetical order?” “Yeah.” “And he only got to Idaho?

Murray Hill is a jerk,” Jenny said. Then she added, “Does he talk about me much?” “Not at all,” Zoe replied, taking pleasure in saying it. Jenny looked hurt. “Not at all?” “Never,” Zoe said happily. “Not even—” Jenny began. “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Ms. E snapped. Although, being evil, she used a different word than ‘Pete’s.’ “Get ahold of yourself, Jennifer! Do you realize how difficult it is to be menacing when you’re mooning over your boyfriend like a sap?” “He’s not my boyfriend,” Jenny said quickly. “And I broke up with him.” “Just can it!” Ms. E ordered.

Mira sat down across from her. ‘The thing about ending up old, broke, alone is you feel so stupid. But it’s not like one had a choice. The real tragedy is if you could not put yourself forward in youth . . . you pay . . . now. Thus you pay young and you pay old. In the middle you run around with your head cut off.’ Lucia looked down at her newspaper. ‘Your real problem is you have a boyfriend who doesn’t want to kiss you.’ Mira ignored that. ‘What I like about your book, by the way, is that it’s vulnerable. And risky. And you just keep going. That is what I like so much. You just kept going.

Maybe you’re nothing like the way I dream of you, and maybe I won’t even like the real person you are. But let’s pretend you are who I think you are.   I can write about you in my diary. And you’ll be the crush I liked the most out of all my previous crushes and boyfriends. Because you never broke my heart. You never lied to me. You never humiliated me.  Because you’re not real. 

We broke up almost four months ago.

Everybody turned on her. Her boyfriend broke up with her so his name wouldn’t be associated with hers anymore. He made her delete all the photos of them together online and refused to be seen around her. She was blacklisted in the art community here. Her parents sent her away hoping things would die down and she could start over eventually.

Her mother bought her a burgundy pair of VANS summer shoes in Italy, and they took a picture of her laughing happily while holding them in her hand in an exaggerated scene, as if they had been teasing him to take a picture of her for her boyfriend in a park somewhere in Italy. Shortly after, she started wearing them in Barcelona and cut off the tiny VANS logo with a scissor. When I asked her why, she tried to avoid answering at first until she said something like she didn't like it, or that they looked better without the tiny black VANS logos. It was suspicious that someone must have told her the urban legend in Barcelona soon after her Italian vacation, that VANS stands for „Vans Are Nazi Shoes.” It became more and more obvious in Barcelona that my life was in danger, as an awful vibe surrounded us due to the construction. It was mostly caused by rich tourists who I had never seen do much work in life, too high to take on a task as simple as changing a password on a bank account on an iPhone app – a crime organisation, quite international already and increasingly so, with a growing number of participants and secrets becoming more and more dangerous, I thought, and I wasn’t wrong, I just couldn’t see the whole picture yet as I was blindfolded. As if her nickname, Stupid Bunny which she had printed out at Ample Store with Adam, was a cute, nice thing, a reassurance after the day before she had been crying for some unknown reason and printing out the phrase, “You never loved me, you just broke my heart.” That couldn't have been further from the truth. She would fidget around and draw at home, and I didn't realise she was bored of being with me when she had so many other options in her mind because of what others had fed her, as if I was a monogamist who wouldn’t forgive her for cheating or making a mistake. Even if I had seen her, when she showed up at home she seemed in love with herself, watching herself in the mirror in her new tight, short shorts. It was weird. I had noticed something strange in Martina for a while now and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I thought it was only the drugs she was secretly doing behind my back, but I was far away from having all the answers.

That’s because I broke up with my boyfriend yesterday. And I can’t stop wondering if I did the right thing or if I’m the biggest idiot since humanity invented the concept of stupid.

Mithali, 25, went into severe clinical depression after she broke up with her boyfriend at 21, she lost 25 kilos and came close to committing suicide. She quit her job, quit all her friends, quit talking, she quit her life. She stayed in her room and her loving family pretended nothing was wrong through it all. She received no professional help. She slowly clawed back to life after discovering guided meditation and ‘love yourself ’ videos on YouTube that she watched day and night month after month. YouTube saved her life.

The whole reason I broke up with him was so I wouldn't be that girl crying over her boyfriend, and now that's exactly what I am. It's pathetic.

Seeing the Worm Instead of the Apple Another thought pattern that makes you keep your partner at a distance is “seeing the worm instead of the apple.” Carole had been with Bob for nine months and had been feeling increasingly unhappy. She felt Bob was the wrong guy for her, and gave a multitude of reasons: He wasn’t her intellectual equal, he lacked sophistication, he was too needy, and she didn’t like the way he dressed or interacted with people. Yet, at the same time, there was a tenderness about him that she’d never experienced with another man. He made her feel safe and accepted, he lavished gifts on her, and he had endless patience to deal with her silences, moods, and scorn. Still, Carole was adamant about her need to leave Bob. “It will never work,” she said time and again. Finally, she broke up with him. Months later she was surprised by just how difficult she was finding things without him. Lonely, depressed, and heartbroken, she mourned their lost relationship as the best she’d ever had. Carole’s experience is typical of people with an avoidant attachment style. They tend to see the glass half-empty instead of half-full when it comes to their partner. In fact, in one study, Mario Mikulincer, dean of the New School of Psychology at the Interdisciplinary Center in Israel and one of the leading researchers in the field of adult attachment, together with colleagues Victor Florian and Gilad Hirschberger, from the department of psychology at Bar-Ilan University in Israel, asked couples to recount their daily experiences in a diary. They found that people with an avoidant attachment style rated their partner less positively than did non-avoidants. What’s more, they found they did so even on days in which their accounts of their partners’ behavior indicated supportiveness, warmth, and caring. Dr. Mikulincer explains that this pattern of behavior is driven by avoidants’ generally dismissive attitude toward connectedness. When something occurs that contradicts this perspective—such as their spouse behaving in a genuinely caring and loving manner—they are prone to ignoring the behavior, or at least diminishing its value. When they were together, Carole used many deactivating strategies, tending to focus on Bob’s negative attributes. Although she was aware of her boyfriend’s strengths, she couldn’t keep her mind off what she perceived to be his countless flaws. Only after they broke up, and she no longer felt threatened by the high level of intimacy, did her defense strategies lift. She was then able to get in touch with the underlying feelings of attachment that were there all along and to accurately assess Bob’s pluses.

Her boyfriend,” Honey’s mother said without skipping a beat. “They’re fighting, but it’s not bad enough to let him starve on the porch.

Julia, you haven’t had a boyfriend since Mikehole. That was eons ago.” Mikehole is Allie’s nickname for my ex asshole boyfriend Michael; the guy who almost broke me and sent me into a month long downward spiral, drowning my sorrows in gallon tubs of ice cream and a serious cupcake overdose.

Do you two have boyfriends?” she asks us. Kelly shakes her head and I shake mine, a little embarrassed at being put on the spot. “Cool!” she continues, to my surprise. “Kendra doesn’t either. And I just broke up with someone. Or he sort of broke up with me. I think. We had a fight and it was all kinda messed up. Anyway, who cares?” She throws her arms wide, smiling so happily I can see almost every one of her big white perfect teeth. “It’s summer! You should never have a boyfriend in the summer. You get a boyfriend in the autumn, so you have someone over Christmas! And then you break up with him in the spring so you can party in the summer again!” Kelly and I stare at her, eyes wide. There’s a mad kind of logic to this, I suppose.

But before, not so long ago - my own rose from prom still OK on the mirror, dried but not a corpse - you were just Ed Slaterton, jocky hero, handsome in the student newspaper and star of a million strands of gossip. Now Annette was a person to me, standing right there, and not just an oh-my-God-have-you-heard, and I tried to put it together in my head, the print and the negative, the boyfriend and the celebrity shadow, like Theodora Sire sat next to me in history, borrowing pencils, but was still a movie star above my bed. Because as you came out of the dark to me, you were the boy I was kissing and wanted to kiss more, back to find me at a party like anybody might do, but you were Ed Slaterton too, and not the cad you are now, but just Ed Slaterton, co-captain, with a beer in your hand and Jillian Beach on your arm.

I should be surprised you’re calling me. But I’m not,” she says. “How was practice?” “Not great. Darlene isn’t a great captain, and Ms. Small knows it. You shouldn’t quit.” “I’m not. I’m just taking a break for a little while. But I didn’t call to talk about poms. Listen, I wanted you to know I broke up with Colin today.” “And you’re telling me because…” That’s a good question, one I normally wouldn’t have answered. “I wanted to talk with someone about it, and I know I have friends who I can call, but I kinda wanted to go to someone who wouldn’t gossip about it. My friends have big mouths.” Sierra is the one person I’m closest to, but I lied to her about Alex. And her boyfriend, Doug, is best friends with Colin. “How do you know I won’t blab?” Isabel asks. “I don’t. But you didn’t tell me stuff about Alex when I asked, so I figure you’re good at keeping secrets.” “I am. So shoot.” “I don’t know how to say this.” “I haven’t got all day, you know.” “I kissed Alex,” I blurt out. “Alex? ¡Benditaǃ Was that before or after the Colin breakup?” I wince. “I didn’t plan it.” Isabel laughs so hard and loud, I have to take the phone away from my ear. “You sure he didn’t plan it?” she asks once she can get words out. “It just happened. We were at his house and then we were interrupted when his mom came home and saw us--” “What? His ma saw you guys? In his house? ¡Benditaǃ” She goes off in Spanish, and I have no clue what the hell she’s saying. “I don’t speak Spanish, Isabel. Help me out here.” “Oh, sorry. Carmen is gonna shit a brick when she finds out.” I clear my throat. “I won’t tell her,” Isabel is quick to say. “But Alex’s mom is one tough woman. When Alex dated Carmen, he kept her far away from his mama. Don’t get me wrong, she loves her sons. But she’s overprotective, just like most Mexican mothers. Did she kick you out?” “No, but she pretty much called me a whore.” More laughing from the other end of the line. “It wasn’t funny.” “I’m sorry.” More laughing. “I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when she walked in on you two.” “Thanks for your compassion,” I say dryly. “I’m hanging up now.” “No! I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just that the more we talk, the more I see you as a totally different person than I thought you were. I guess I can understand why Alex likes you.

Broke up. With Led, her almost husband and with other boyfriends, the phrase felt right; she broke them off from her, let them fall away like the spent stage of an Apollo rocket. She was stronger without them and never looked back

Sharon did have house guests to keep her company, though. Abigail Folger, the heiress to the Folger Coffee Company and her boyfriend, Wojciech Frykowski, were also living at Cielo Drive. On the evening of August 8, 1969, Sharon made phone calls to her sister and her friend to cancel plans she had made, saying that she was tired and would spend the night in with another friend, Jay Sebring. The foursome, Sharon, Jay, Abigail, and Wojciech, ate at a local Mexican restaurant before returning to Sharon’s home at Cielo Drive. At 11.30 pm, Manson took his follower and right-hand man Tex Watson to one side and explained to him what he had to do. For the good of the family, Manson said, Tex had to lead the others to Cielo Drive to “totally destroy everyone in that house” and steal whatever they could. It’s unclear whether Manson even knew who was now living in that particular house, but he must have known they were rich and that they would serve as an example to the rest of the world that no one was safe. Manson rounded up Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel, and new follower Linda Kasabian. Dressed in black, the girls grabbed their knives and jumped into the car with Tex. Manson rested at Spahn Ranch, waiting for news from 10050 Cielo Drive. When the group arrived at the house, Tex climbed a telephone pole and snipped the wire. It was only now that the group had arrived that Tex told the girls exactly what they were there to do. If the girls were shocked, they didn’t show it, and they dutifully followed Tex’s lead in what came next. Steve Parent, an 18-year-old friend of the caretaker at Cielo Drive, was the first to be murdered. Parent was leaving the property in his car, having just visited his friend, when Tex shot him four times. Tex then entered the house through an open window and told the girls to follow him inside. New follower Kasabian was terrified and unable to help, so Tex told her to go back to the car and keep watch. In the sitting room of the house, Tex woke Wojciech who had fallen asleep on the couch, and Susan ventured upstairs where she found Abigail reading in bed. Abigail saw Susan but wasn’t alarmed at first. It wasn’t unusual for strangers to be in the house. But when Susan brandished a large knife and told Abigail, Sharon, and Jay to go with her downstairs, the group were terrified. Tex tied a rope around Wojciech’s throat, threw it over a beam in the house, and tied it around Sharon’s throat. Tex demanded money and grew furious when no one produced any, then he shot Jay in the stomach. As Sharon and Abigail screamed in terror, Tex stabbed Jay, over and over again. Realizing that no one was going to escape alive if he didn’t do something, Wojciech tried to break free, causing Susan to attack him with a knife. Wojciech was able to overpower Susan, so Tex shot him twice then battered him with the handle of his gun. Incredibly, Wojciech still managed to escape the house, but Tex caught up with him on the lawn and ended his life with a knife. Abigail also broke free of Patricia, but she caught her and stabbed her repeatedly. Tex finally ended Abigail’s life with his knife. Sharon was the only person still alive in the house; she pleaded for her life and the life of her unborn child. As Sharon begged, Susan Atkin’s began stabbing her, being sure to stab her directly through her pregnant stomach. Later, Susan said she “got sick of listening to her so I stabbed her and then I just stabbed her and she fell and I stabbed her again, just kept stabbing and stabbing.” The group almost left without writing the bloody graffiti Manson had explicitly told them to leave behind. Susan went back into the house and used a towel to write “PIG” on the front door of 10500 Cielo Drive in the victims’ blood.

One woman was asking another, “Why have you left your boyfriend? What happened? I had been thinking that you were engaged and that you were going to be married – what happened?” The woman replied, “Our religions are different and that’s why we have broken up.” The questioner was puzzled because she knew that both were Catholics, so she asked, “What do you mean by saying that your religions are different?” The woman said, “I worship money, and he is broke.

That summer, the month he turned twenty-nine, my brother had proposed to his girlfriend, the one he’d met four years earlier, just before coming to stay with me in Brooklyn. Nearly everyone from high school and most of my friends from college were married, or soon to be, and as for ex-boyfriends: W married in 2005; R met his soon-to-be wife in 2006 (today both couples have two children). Even the close friends I’d made in New York were “joining the vast majority,” as Neith had put it. All of us wanted to believe this wouldn’t change anything. But it did, invariably, in ways small and large. It’s a rare friendship that transcends the circumstances that forged it, and being single together in the city, no matter how powerful a bond when it’s happening, can prove pretty weak glue. Alliances had been redrawn, resources shifted and reconsolidated; new envies replaced the old. Whereas before we were all broke together, now they had husbands splitting the rent and bills, and I couldn’t shake my awareness of this difference. A treacherous, unspoken sense of inequality set in, which only six months into my new magazine job had radically reversed: I’d become the one who could afford nice restaurants while they had to channel their disposable incomes toward a shared household, and I felt their unspoken judgment just as before they’d felt mine. One newly married friend lashed out at me for never inviting her to parties. I tried to explain: Didn’t she see I was going because someone else had invited me? And that if I didn’t go, I’d be home alone, whereas she had someone to keep her company? When a dear friend said, “You know, I may be married now, but I’m still just like you! I can still do whatever I want!” I blanched. She’d been on her own so recently herself. Didn’t she remember that being single is more than just following your whims—that it also means having nobody to help you make difficult decisions, or comfort you at the end of a bad week?

Fuck why he broke up with her! He broke up with her because her ass don’t need to be having no boyfriend! You’re eighteen years old girl, fuck you need a boyfriend for? Your boyfriend should be school, studying, and college applications. Where this nigga from? Where he live? Take me to him right now. I swear I just want to talk.” I said

later that same evening, he took me out to dinner. That night, I broke up with my boyfriend of over a year, explaining apologetically that I had met the man I was going to marry.

A chorus of howls and whistles surrounded us with cries of “Get a room, you two,” and someone definitely said, “They are gonna fuuuuuck,” making us laugh so hard that we broke our kiss.

According to my last two—three—maybe four boyfriends, I’m too sexually demanding. Which is such a double standard,” she said testily, old grievances making her downright mad. “First, they’re happy about it, and then it’s, ‘I have a headache, Sasha.’ Or: ‘We already did it three times today, Sasha.’ Or: ‘I think you broke me, Sasha.

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The company I worked for went under. I got the infamous thank you for applying email from the Carey Foundation two weeks after my seven two-hour-long final-round interviews spanning three months. Then my boyfriend fucking broke up with me and blocked me on all social media platforms. All of this happened one after another in a span of two months; blow after blow, gut punch after gut punch.

Tissues are a code red. At least, they are in the Hollings household. Faye went through a four-pack of boxes when her spineless ex-boyfriend broke up with her over text. I may or may not have gone over to his house that night and broken his nose.