Friend Zone

There are a few universal truths I have come to learn over the years: 1) Girls like guys who are assholes. 2) I am not an asshole. 3) Therefore, girls don’t like me.

This truth is embedded deep into my psyche, but I think this time it will be different.

But I also believe everybody deserves to be happy. I believe this above all else.

And right now I am happy because I’m with Victoria Jean Lamonte in the Hardbrooke Mall. Victoria pulls a strand of blonde hair back as she takes a sip of her caramel Mocciato. Victoria is the perfect specimen of the female species. High cheek bones. Blonde hair. Tanned face. No blemishes. Perfect pearl white teeth with utter straightness, except one is slightly crooked on her left side which only adds to my desire for her. Her lips are full and flush. Everything about her is completely and utterly perfect.

She’s wearing a purple scarf that I bought her for a birthday present freshman year when we were in Lake Michigan dorm. I met her the day she moved in, a hot August day. She was wearing short jean shorts and a tank top.

The story of my life: I have bad luck with girls. I think I do alright at the whole talking part, hanging out part, but it’s in the final execution that I fall short. Normally, they either tell me they like another guy, that they only view me as a “friend,” or that they view me like I’m their brother. Where I fall short is going from being a friend to being the guy a girl wants to make-out with at a party, or the guy whose hand she wants to hold.

Victoria’s had bad luck with guys. She always ends up picking douche-bags. I’ve been there through three suck guys. Two of them cheated on her. The other one it fizzled out and she confessed, “I didn’t really like him all that much.”

Because we’ve both had bad luck with the opposite sex, I think we can make it work. In math two negatives equals a positive and I hope we can transfer this over to real life.

We both deserve each other. We deserve to give each other a chance and break out recent trends of bad luck. Although, I have to admit I think my bad luck is a curse I’ve been plagued with my entire life.

She doesn’t know I like her. Or at least I don’t think she does. There are two types of guys: a) Guys who get girls, and b) Guys who never get the girl.

And this is where I have to make my move. It’s been a year. I love being her friend, but I just can’t stand to see her heart get trampled on by another douche-bag. I know I’d treat her how she deserves to be treated. I’ll hold every door open for her and take her on dates. And I’ll never take her for granted for a second.

“We’re good together,” I say.

“We are.”

“Will you be my girlfriend?” I ask. I can feel the sweat on the back of my neck as my heartbeat picks up. My hands feel clammy and my breathing has escalated. Time is suspended, like everything is happening in slow motion around me. All I can see is Victoria.

 She looks down.  

“I . . . ehhh,” she says. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You know we’d good for each other.”

“Like listen. You’re a really nice guy,” Victoria says, putting her hand on her lips, “And someday you will make some girl really happy. Like you’ll be a great boyfriend to some lucky girl someday.”

“Why can’t that girl be you?”

I’ve had this happen before. Girls will tell me that I’m a nice guy and they know I would never hurt them, but for some reason it just doesn’t work out and they don’t want to make a commitment to me. Or something. I really don’t know what it is.

“I just can’t handle a relationship right now,” she says.

I know the last two she’s been in, since I knew her have really messed with head because she always picks assholes who take advantage of her or are playing her.

“I know we’d be good together,” I say. “We’d make it work.”

“I just can’t take another thing in my life. And I don’t really want a relationship right now.” I remember sitting in the library after her boyfriend cheated on her back in October. Two months after I knew, after I’d already been crushing on her. She caught him in his dorm room with another girl. The door was unlocked. I just held her as she cried into my chest. I remember her exact words. She said, “I wish I could just find a nice guy like you.”

 “I like you as a friend.”

The dreaded F-word. And this has been my history with women. Ever since I’ve been in middle school. Girls will like me enough to socialize with me. Hang out with me. Even dance with me. But anytime it comes down to me telling them I like them they throw me in the grey area, “The Friend Zone.”

“Like you’re a really nice guy,” she says, again, playing with her coffee cup, “but I just don’t think of you like that. I think of you as my friend. You’re like a big brother to me.”

If I was a “nice guy” I don’t get why she wouldn’t want to be with me. I don’t understand how she can’t see we’re perfect for each other. We almost complete each other’s sentences. I want to slam my head against the table and scream.

I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think I could get a girl like Victoria to like me. I know she’s prettier than any girl I’ve talked to. And when I say she’s “pretty,” I really mean that she’s “beautiful.” I didn’t want to sleep with this girl; I wanted to make love to her. I would have been the best, most caring boyfriend, but instead she won’t even give me a chance.

We can talk for hours and never get sick of each other.

“I should go,” Victoria says, picking up her purse.

“But you just got here.”

Her lips quiver for a second and she squints her eyes, like this is hard for her. I want to ask her if she even realizes how much she means to me. That I have dreamed about her every day for the last year. I think she’s my fucking soul mate.

“I have to go study.”

My mouth tastes bitter even though I haven’t eaten anything all day and I doubt I will for the rest of the day.

I get up and walk briskly to catch up to Victoria.              

She’s walking faster than she normally does.

“I want to walk you to your car,” I say. She looks at me like I’m a stranger, somebody who’s going to take her purse of sexually assault her. Not like somebody she’s known her entire Freshman year of college.

“Don’t.” She looks me in the eye. She doesn’t smile. She looks stressed out. And I realize I am the cause of that stress.

Her pace quickens. It’s like she wants to sprint to her car just to be away from me. I remember one time when we were studying and we were listening to her Iphone, the Ed Sheeran song, “Photograph.” She leaned into me and said, “You’re comfortable.” Her head was on my chest and this is when I knew I had a chance with her. She was like this for at least ten minutes. I thought she was going to fall asleep.

“Do you remember—

“Well, I really got to go,” Victoria says. “I think we should maybe give each other some space. Please don’t walk me to my car.”

“I—

“Take care.”

She doesn’t hug me like she normally does and she doesn’t even look back. This is when I realize I was, am, and will always be type b.