Nyla

It was a Saturday night in March and I was sitting in my apartment on the couch, alone and bored. It had been a year since I had dated anyone after my ex—boyfriend Eric left me. I thought I would spend my life with him, but instead, I was left heartbroken and hurt. Since then, I haven't look at men much less date them. I had done everything I could to make him stay, to make things work, but I guess it hadn't been good enough. It seemed he had already made up his mind on what he wanted, and nothing I could do would stop him. So, feeling betrayed and humiliated, I had let him go.

I was so in love with him that we had been together for seven years and had been through a lot. We had met one night when I was at a restaurant alone waiting for my date, who after an hour of the agreed time called and told me that he couldn't make it. I was dining alone when he had come over and offered me his company which I gladly accepted. We had talked and laughed the entire night and before you knew it we had exchanged numbers and were going out on our first official date. Things had started getting serious between us, so we decided that we should start a relationship. It was exactly three months after our first date, that we said those three magical words, "I love you."

I had felt happy when he had said it, that I blurted them right back out to him. I had felt a huge weight lifted off me when I did, for I wanted to utter them for some time now. Our relationship was going great, I thought that we had it all, that we had something real. So, imagine my surprise one night when he came home with an old bitch on his arm, saying they are going to get married and I'm invited to the wedding.

He didn't offer an explanation, he didn't tell me how and when it happened and why he was leaving me. He didn't say a word. He had me thinking that I was the problem, that I was doing something wrong and I wasn't pleasing him the way I should which was very funny because most nights I had to get myself off sexually. That night when he came home with his new bride—to—be and had told me that they were getting married, I nearly passed out from both anger and shock. At that moment, all I could see was red and I wanted to strangle both of them, but I couldn't find myself doing it. I couldn't go to jail for this man since he was not worth it anymore.

So, to save myself from further humiliation and hurt, I just packed my things and went to find a new apartment. I didn't go anywhere except for work after the incident happened. If I had the option of not going to work then, I would have stayed home and mended my broken heart because I was so depressed. Everyone had wondered what had happened to my relationship, even my best friends. I was too embarrassed to tell them so I just lied and told them I broke it off because we weren't in a good place and we couldn't see eye to eye anymore. It had taken me a long time to finally admit to them what happened.

Everyone who I was close with was happy that I broke things off; it showed that no one had liked him and had seen right through his dirty ways, ways that I had never noticed. Looking back, I now understand why we had gotten into so many fights, why we would constantly argue and be at each other throats and when he did things that were too painful to the human ear, I would forgive him as nothing happened. I guess the saying is true, love is really blind.

Sometimes I found myself wondering if he ever comes back if I would go back to him as I would always do after he hurt me. I also wondered if I could ever look past the hurt and pain and try to find it in my heart to love him again if he came back. We had a history––seven years to be exact and that's hard to overlook.

Getting up off the couch, I headed to the bathroom to take a bath. Stepping into the tub, I sat inside the water that came to a stop at my neck and that was filled with my favorite Dove body wash. Tonight, was the first time I was going to leave my apartment to go somewhere other than work to have fun and let loose. I was tired of sitting around my apartment moping around feeling sorry for myself, tonight I was going to get up and go out to mingle and enjoy myself.

After my body was cleaned, I got up out of the tub and grabbed one of the towels that were on the towel bar before wrapping it around my body and walking outside of the bathroom and into my bedroom. Putting on my black lace bra and a black lace thong that completed the set from Victoria's Secret, I took out my black dress that stopped mid—thigh and hugged all my curves and my five—inch pumps that made me look taller than my five foot one frame. Putting them on, I walked to the mirror where I applied my make—up and a little lip gloss as the finishing touch.

Stepping outside of my apartment, I locked the door behind me and walked right into the cool New York night air to the taxi stand where I hailed a cab, and told the driver I wanted him to bring me to the 124 French Connections Night Club located at 973 West 60th Street. It was one of the most popular nightclubs in New York City because it was famous for many hook—ups and one—night stands. On my way to the club, I saw that the streets of New York were lively. Long lines were leading into other clubs; a lot of persons were walking or hurrying to go about their business. The city was filled with excitement; which was one of the reasons why I stayed here. The other was that I worked for a top sports magazine in New York and I was on the verge of becoming an editorial assistant.