He Hurt Me Twice

Maybe the past should stay firmly planted there.

When Jake reappeared in my life last December I was happy, but cautious in the beginning.

Seeing each other for the first time in years, we went to a restaurant and talked for a couple of hours. He told me about the books he was reading and the places he’d been able to travel as a professional athlete. We rehashed our unsavory past and came to an understanding that the situation had been hurtful for both of us in different ways. 

Afterward he sent me a text saying, “Conversations with you are easy. I like that!”

Even a gesture as small as that —  being transparent about his thoughts — was enough to chip at the guard I had up. It was endearing. 

And I agreed with him; our conversations were easy. I’d always felt like I could be myself with Jake. When we met up I felt the familiarity of the bond we’d once shared — even though it had only been for a short moment in time. 

At first I didn’t look at us reconnecting through a romantic lens; I just thought it’d be fun to touch base. But Jake had other intentions. He pursued me.

I indulged him. And when he sensed I was holding back and called me out on it, I leaned in. I’m a defended person by nature, but at Jake’s urging I set an intention to drop my guard and show my full self.

I was rooting for our comeback story, twelve years in the making.

After back-to-back-to-back hangouts while I was visiting New Jersey (all initiated by him), it was time for me to leave.

While acknowledging we were attracted to each other, we agreed we wanted to really get to know one another and take things day by day. So we chose to explore both our attraction and a “friendship” simultaneously. I made it clear to him that I was looking for a serious relationship, something sustainable. 

As a preliminary step, Jake planned to come to Los Angeles shortly after I left the east coast. If that went well, we’d go on a trip together. We had Chicago on our radar, a place neither of us had been.

Leading up to his west coast visit we talked about finally having sex with each other after all these years. There was a lot of anticipation. Aside from carnal desires, we had conversations about our goals, our careers, and what we wanted out of life — things that led me to believe we were on the same page.

As the days went on I paid close attention to Jake. I wanted to be sure he was worthy of my time and emotional investment. Even though I’d been following him on Instagram for years, I examined his profile more intently. There were photos of him on international trips, group pics with friends and teammates, heartfelt captions showing emotional nakedness, and tributes to loved ones — all good signs. 

After careful consideration I chose to peel back a layer of myself. It was intended to set a precedent of trust. I decided to tell him something about me that I don’t tell everyone I date — something I’m choosing to leave out of this essay.

The point is, I trusted Jake with this information. I thought he was different, mature. And at 30-years-old, I thought we were grown enough to cut the bullshit.

The conversation took place over FaceTime. We virtually looked each other in the eyes as I spoke my truth. Jake responded well. In fact, he was utterly unfazed (or at least that was the front he put on). I hung up feeling positive and looked forward to seeing him soon, although he contracted Covid-19 and wouldn’t be able to make it to LA as originally planned.

But there was a shift in the following days. Jake got quiet. When I asked why, he told me his life had been thrown off course due to changes in an international sporting event he was competing in. It was originally supposed to take place in 2020 and now its 2021 rescheduling was in jeopardy, all due to the pandemic. He’d been aspiring to this for most of his life, so I was empathetic. 

I followed the news cycle for updates. As things seemed to stabilize I hoped our communication would go back to normal, but it was still patchy. Eventually I asked if he lost interest in me.

“It’s not that I lost interest. Everything that’s been going on has been pretty insane,” he told me. Initially his reply felt reassuring. It made me feel good to know the shift taking place wasn’t because of me. But as days went on and our communication stalled, I realized it was a comforting lie. 

I didn’t reply, and I never heard from him again. It was confusing as fuck — not because it’s hard to fathom someone’s feelings for me changing, but because I thought he’d have enough integrity to be honest with me.

But I found out Jake had no integrity at all. Months after we stopped talking, word got back to me that he’d shared what I’d confided in him with someone else. It made my blood boil. Why hadn’t I seen his true colors?

For weeks I struggled with thoughts about what I could’ve done differently. I questioned if I’d jumped the gun in being so forthcoming. I beat myself up for not seeing warning signs that he was an asshole.

I made myself vulnerable, all but forgetting my vulnerability could leave me susceptible to the same feeling of heartbreak I experienced with Jake as a teen. I wish I hadn’t been so far removed from it. Maybe then I would’ve been more careful, protecting myself from someone I now realize perhaps I never really knew. 

The person I thought had grown to be an emotionally mature, honest, and extraordinary man was still just the ego-driven, cowardly, basic boy who’d slut-shamed and dumped me in high school.

The way things turned out wasn’t my fault. In the aftermath I found peace in knowing the choice I made came from a place of love. I pulled my weight by being communicative, and my intentions were pure. Why should I regret doing the noble thing?

Jake’s moving through life without a moral compass, a defeated athlete who wears many masks. Does he even know who he is? It’s none of my concern anymore. He’s in my past — and this time he’s staying there.