Chapter 2: first date

So let’s just say… with enough sweet words, enough persuasion, enough of him calling me “special” and saying he couldn’t wait to see me, I gave in. I agreed to meet him.

I lied to my parents, of course. Told them I was going to a classmate’s house to work on a school project, that we’d be studying late. It was the easiest lie I ever told, and I didn’t even feel guilty about it back then. All I felt was that buzzing, electric feeling under my skin—like I was about to do something incredible, something only the two of us would ever know about.

And oh my GOD, what the actual fuck.

I waited by the corner of the street, far enough from my house so no one I knew would spot me, when he pulled up. On a motorcycle. Big, shiny, loud, everything I’d only ever seen in movies. He took off his helmet and smiled at me, and my knees literally went weak. He looked even better in person than he did in photos—tall, broad, that sleepy look in his eyes that made me feel like I was the only person in the whole world that mattered.

I had never ridden on the back of a motorcycle with anyone outside my family before. Never. But there I was, swinging my leg over the seat, wrapping my arms tight around his waist and pressing my chest against his back, holding on for dear life as he started the engine. The wind was blowing my hair everywhere, rushing past my ears so loud I could barely hear anything else, and honestly? It was so romantic I could’ve cried. I felt like I was in some kind of music video, like the main character of every love story I’d ever loved.

This was my very first date ever. My first real date, with the guy I’d been daydreaming about every single second. And where did we go?

His bedroom.

I repeat, HIS MOTHERFUCKING BEDROOM.

My sixteen-year-old self was SHOOK. Completely, absolutely shook. I’d seen this play out in movies and read about it in books a hundred times, but actually being there? Walking through his front door, his mom not even home, stepping into his room that smelled exactly like him—like that woodsy, fresh scent I’d already started to crave—my heart was beating so fast I thought it would jump right out of my chest and land on the floor.

It was wrong. It was scandalous. It was everything I knew I shouldn’t be doing… and it was everything I never knew I wanted.

I remember looking around his room, seeing his things—his clothes thrown over the chair, his posters on the wall, his laptop open on the desk—and thinking, I’m actually here. I’m actually here with him. It felt like stepping into a whole different universe, one where there were no parents, no rules, no school, no age gaps. Just us.

And honestly? I felt like the coolest, luckiest girl alive. Like, who does this? Who goes from meeting someone for the first time at a funeral, to texting every day on Christmas, to riding on the back of a motorcycle and ending up alone in his bedroom on the very first date?

Me, apparently.

It was everything I thought love was supposed to be. Secretive, intense, a little bit dangerous, like we were running away from the whole world just to be together. I remember sitting on the edge of his bed, twisting the end of my dress nervously, watching him move around the room, and thinking, This is why people write songs about this feeling. This is exactly what those lyrics meant—being drawn to someone you know you shouldn’t have, wanting them even though it’s messy and complicated and wrong.

Nobody knew about us. Not my friends, not my family, not a single soul. We were a secret, our own little hidden world, and that made every second feel ten times more special. Like we had something nobody else could ever understand, something nobody else could ever take away from us.

I was sixteen and naive, completely blinded by how perfect it all felt. I ignored every single red flag waving right in my face. I didn’t care that he was eight years older, didn’t care that we had nothing in common really, didn’t care that I was lying to everyone I loved just to be there. I just cared that he chose me. Out of every girl in the world, he chose me.

But looking back now… God, I really walked right into that one, didn't I?

Walking into that room felt like stepping into a trap I’d spent weeks begging to be caught in. Everything was quiet, the air was cool, and suddenly it was just the two of us. No rules, no expectations, no one telling us what we could or couldn't do. It felt illegal, it felt risky, and God, back then it felt amazing.

I remember sitting there, my hands shaking a little, too nervous to look at him for too long. He was so much bigger than me, so mature, so… everything I thought I wanted. He knew exactly what to say to make me blush, exactly how to brush his hand against mine and make my breath catch, exactly how to make me feel like I was the most special girl alive.

I would’ve done anything he asked me to right then and there. I was so wrapped up in him, so drunk on the attention and the feeling of being wanted, that I completely forgot reality. I forgot that I was basically still a child—with homework and curfews and scraped knees I still cried about sometimes—and he was fully grown: paying bills, going to clubs, living a whole life I couldn’t even begin to understand. I didn’t care, though. In that moment, I felt powerful. I felt like I had won something big, like I’d stolen something precious that wasn’t meant for someone my age.

We talked for what felt like hours. Well, mostly he talked and I just listened, hanging onto every single word like it was gold. He told me about his friends, about the places he went, about parties and trips and things that sounded so glamorous and grown-up. I felt like Cinderella at the ball, except my ball was his bedroom and my prince was way too old for me, and at midnight I wouldn’t get a carriage home—I’d have to sneak back in through my own back door like I was doing something bad.

And then… things started shifting. The atmosphere in the room got heavier, warmer, thicker. He moved closer to me, until our knees were touching, until I could feel the heat coming off his body. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me, looked at my lips, and I didn’t pull away. Why would I? I wanted this. I craved this more than anything I’d ever wanted before.

It was my first time ever experiencing anything like that. My first kiss, my first time being held like that, my first time feeling wanted in that way. Everything was happening right there, on that bed, behind closed doors, and it felt like magic.

I was so naive. So incredibly stupid and naive. But at that age, when you think you’re in love, you truly believe you can handle anything. I thought I was different. I thought we were different. I thought love was enough to fix every wrong thing about us.

Little did I know, I wasn't living out some epic romance. I was walking straight into a mess that would take me years to clean up. But hey… at least it felt good while it lasted, right?

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