by Alboba
I was born in the 2000s. Spread thin between two countries and two centuries, neither felt like I belonged. Nobody wanted us kids at the turn of the century. I was not cool enough to be a 90s kid. I lived in the technological boom, as screens were starting to take over our homes. My dad had an old computer underneath the corner next to the stairs, with one of those sexy cathode-ray tube monitors. I will never forget that shaky, flickering image. Windows XP. Exhilarating. I fell in love with computers. It was the only friend I had. People scrunched over their phones nowadays do not understand this piece of marvelous tech they are holding. Scientists had been anticipating the existence of shareable and unlimited knowledge for centuries, and there I had it right at my fingertips. Since we didn’t have any money and my parents were continuously fighting over who could give me less, I saved every penny. I scrunched up enough money working at a burger shop to buy some PC parts. I was seventeen. This machine was my lifeline to my passion for technology and knowledge. But it mostly meant videogames and online friends. Every evening we spent virtually sitting in our online server rooms. “OK, so we are getting you a GeForce 1060. It’s on the cheaper side but effective.” I did not realize at the time that I was pretty. But I was fucking pretty. It did not make life any easier, but at least the boys endured my annoying bullshit. I hit eighteen without having lived life. After managing to get through the application tasks, I was off to university. I had a lust for life. So hungry, I was looking at my peers like beef hung up on silver metal hooks. I liked the guys. I liked the girls. Buffet was open on both sides all year. I was sick in the head. I had the ego of Rambo stuck in the body of an anime girl. And I believed I deserved it all. So much so that my smartass continued missing out on life by chasing useless romances. Continuously looking for validation in the arms of the next guy. One night, I was talking to a boy. His name was Malvin. We were sitting in my first-ever flat of a humble size. The fashionably old building with high ceilings did not make up for the fact that looking out my windows, I stared at a brick wall. We non-stop fucked like teens, because that’s what we were. He was sitting in my tiny bedroom. It was over before it even started. My constant need for validation and attention was getting to him. “I wanted to date you. I had a crush on you. I wanted to ask you out on a date, but now I realize things are more complicated. I can’t say you aren’t looking fantastic, though.” I was sitting there in my Goth Lolita outfit, looking miserable. Looking for a sign that he honestly cared for me. But it had all just been empty phrases and hormones. Another body I could cut open and nestle in to pretend I had a home. His look was empty and devoid of empathy. Acids eating through my insides. “I know,” I said, “I’ve been noticing. I’ve already said my goodbyes. I have been crying and working it out in my head. You can leave. Don’t forget, you are the one missing out.” Ego can be powerful. I had a lot of it. It did not allow me to beg him to stay. It was difficult for him. Not because I was sitting there falling to pieces. But because he knew he had broken the hearts of two girls in two short months and there was no possibility of justifying it to himself on the shaky floor of opportunistic morals he was walking on like a miserable dog. He had done it for a good fuck. And I ran out of tricks to entertain him.
© Alboba 2023-09-01