New York is not an easy place to live. Anyone who says otherwise was either born with a big silver spoon in their mouth or is lying to make you feel like shit. Sure, there's a certain exhilaration that comes with the work, the competition, the glittering mirage of success always just out of your grasp. But sometimes it's a real goddamned grind.
Things have not gone as I expected them to since I arrived here with stars in my eyes. My first years were filled with hope and optimism. I was studying on a full scholarship, living in the dorms, eating on a meal plan. I could have done it forever. I loved school, loved learning. Loved history, especially medieval history. So what if my particular area of interest had no real world application? I'd keep going. Maybe all the way to a Ph D.
So when I got into a great grad school - I mean one of the best in the world - and I couldn't pay for it... what choice did I really have? Of course I was going to take out the loans. I'd tighten my belt. I'd figure it out later. Things always had a way of working out, I thought. I was going to publish someday. I was going to be a great teacher.
It was while I was in grad school that I met my wife, Emily.
She was a grad student too at the time, studying art history. There was so much I liked about her. She was intimidated by no one, and could match wits with anyone. And of course she was stunningly beautiful. Tall, with jet black hair and creamy skin. Big, dark almond eyes. No girl could match her, I thought. Everything she did was completely elegant. She was the paragon of women. And I should know - I had known quite a few. But the thing that most intoxicated me was she wasn't impressed by me in the slightest.
You have to understand. Never in my life have I had any real trouble getting a girl. It was so easy for me to fall in love, and pretty girls in the city were absolutely everywhere. Sure, it wasn't always easy, but what I loved the most was the thrill of the chase, and that feeling of complete satisfaction when I finally make a girl mine for the night. I was having enough sex to get myself something of a reputation on campus - one I wasn't entirely ashamed of... but one that made Emily turn her nose up at me... which in turn fueled my infatuation.
It was a hellish cycle.
As soon as I had myself convinced that I'd never get anywhere with her, as soon as I returned to a carefree life of meaningless hookups with pretty girls... I'd run into her at a party, or a hallway, or the library. She'd look at me with those big dark eyes with something like disappointment. But something else too. I was convinced I saw desire. That look told me she wanted me just as much as I wanted her! But she was utterly unwilling to compromise or bend even a little bit. That look would keep me up at night. I'd swear off any other woman if it meant I could have her.
Finally, finally, finally one warm spring night I put it all on the line. I saw her walking home through campus, alone. I caught up to her and managed one word: "Please..."
"What?" she answered curtly, not looking at me.
My heart was pounding. I wasn't exactly sure what it was I was begging for.
"Let me talk to you," I tried.
She was looking at me now with those big dark eyes, and I was swimming in them.
"If I have the wrong impression-" I began carefully, "Tell me off now and I won't bother you again."
"Wrong impression of what?"
I had to take a moment before I could speak again. I could not believe how pathetically nervous I was being at the moment.
"I don't- think you hate me."
Wow. Internally I cringed but tried hard to keep a confident face.
"I don't hate you, Jon." she confirmed.
"Well I love you," I blurted out stupidly. Jesus Christ. Was it true? I didn't even know what love was! Never had a relationship, never wanted one. What was I saying?
"No you don't," she said simply, and with a roll of her eyes she started walking.
"No, you don't understand-"
"I'm not one of those silly girls who spreads her legs every time a man says 'I love you'. So goodnight."
Spreads her... legs? Oh, the picture she had just put in my head! And I was supposed to just let her walk away now? No. Was it intentional? Did she say that just to drive me crazy?
"I can't stop thinking about you."
"Must be difficult."
"What would it take for you to give me a chance?"
She stopped. I could feel my heart pounding down to the tips of my fingers.
"I'm not interested in just taking you home and never seeing you again," I muttered, utterly astonished at what had just come out of my mouth.
She didn't say anything for a long, terrible moment.
"Really."
"Let me take you out for coffee," I persisted. "Or wherever you like. And I swear while I'm seeing you, there won't be another woman in the world."
She turned and looked me right in the eyes. "I don't really believe you're capable of that, do you?"
My heart sank.
"Don't think we girls don't talk to one another. You're used to getting what you want, aren't you? Without caring about the hearts you break along the way."
I couldn't exactly deny the accusation.
"I don't have time for that sort of thing," she continued simply.
"This will be different," I promised. "You're different."
