Spoiler! :
I smile at the brunette sitting across the table from where I stand. She’s upset that I’ve kept her waiting, but all is forgiven as I pull a small bouquet of daisies out from behind my back. She exclaims something heartfelt and meaningful, kissing my cheek.
_____Our meal goes off without a hitch.
She tells me she can’t wait to see me again as she gets in the cab to go home.
On my way to the park, I pick up a bouquet of roses. Coming up behind the blonde on the bench, I cover her eyes.
_____Guess who.
She jumps, letting out of high pitched squeal of delight as she throws her arms around my neck. I hand her the roses, and our fingers entwine as we begin our sunset stroll through the park.
_____She laughs at everything I say, her hair shining in the golden light.
She tells me she loves me before we part.
This is too easy.
I meet up with a few guys, and we head out to a club. Within the hour I’ve collected three more numbers – three new dates for tomorrow.
_____I go home alone.
_____On my coffee table lies the book.
It was a plain notebook, until I took my markers to it during my junior year of high school.
It’s a simple design – an empty jar.
Inside are notes – I’ve been doing this since high school.
As I strip for bed, I look through the pages, smiling at the memories.
I arrive at the pier at 10:30.
The brunette is waiting for me by the ferris wheel. She slides her arm around mine, and I lead her onto the ride. We are silent until we stop at the top.
“It’s over.” I say, turning to face her. Her eyes begin to water, and she stammers.
“W-what…why?”
“There’s somebody else.”
She cries through the rest of the ride, and doesn’t move when the gate opens at the bottom.
I spy the blonde right where I asked her to meet me. I take her hand in both of mine, pulling her down to sit on the empty bench beside me.
“It’s over.”
“Um…why?” she looks confused. I expected this – she’s less fragile than the brunette. But breakable, nonetheless.
“I’m just not feeling it.”
Her eyes glimmer. Anger, confusion, hurt.
Just like the brunette.
Just like every other girl before her.
Just like I planned.
I can’t help the small smile playing on my lips as I stand up.
Why wouldn’t they be confused? I shaped myself to each of them, made myself everything they wanted, everything they needed. I was the perfect boyfriend to each girl in turn.
I leave the blonde staring blankly into the water.
I arrive home, grabbing my book. I flip to the two most recent pages.
_____Christine. Brunette.
I add to the end of the page:
_____Cries.
Next page.
_____Isabelle. Blonde.
_____Quiet.
I close the notebook, staring at the cover. I’ve been collecting girls in these pages for six years.
An idea strikes me, and I grab a red marker.
I begin filling the jar with small, red hearts. Within in each, I write an initial. I make some hearts bigger than others – these are the girls who took me back. These are the girls I held the most of.
When I’m finished, the jar is about three quarters full, about as much as the book itself. Ninety-seven small hearts, one for every girl I molded myself to.
I smirk, reaching for my phone as I pull the phone numbers from last night out of my coat pocket.
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