Exploits with Edmund Sweet, Part 2

This is a picture taken when Edmund and I were dating.*

*This is a lie. I have no idea who these people are, but this picture came up when I searched Google images for our names.

An actual description of Edmund would include how tall he is, his large green eyes, and his distinctive nose. During the three months that we dated, he began called me his strawberry cream filled carrot popsicle. It doesn't roll off the tongue, but at least it was a unique nickname, developed from the fact that my lipgloss tasted like strawberry and my fingers looked like baby carrots (his description, not mine).

The day we broke up I showed up to his mansion (yes, it was indeed a mansion) and found it desolate. After calling his phone, which he never answered, I wandered around the property to find him sleeping on the floor of the garage. Behavior like this always seemed strange to me, but it's amazing what a person will get used to when they're madly in love with someone.

I woke him up, and he promptly broke up with me. We wandered around his property, me crying, him attempting to remain firm in his decision. Then I drove home. The breakup drive home is one of the worst feelings on record, and this was before I had a cell phone to call and cry at my friends.

Would this be the last time I saw Edmund Sweet? 'Course not, or else I wouldn't have started my new blog with an exploration of our continually fucked up relationship.

That summer is a strange haze for me, a summer that became

known to me and my friends as "The Summer of Sin and Debauchery" due to the copious amounts of liquor we drank, the number of random people we hooked up with (usually just each other), and the number of days lost in a stupor at TJ's house.

I can't recall exactly how my next encounter with Edmund began, I only remember what occurred once it was already happening. I can't remember the conversation that lead me to his house a few weeks later, to take him to the mall so he could buy new jeans. I can only remember finding him drunk and alone at his house (no one else ever seemed to be at his house). I don't know if it was out of my desperate love for him or purely out of weakness that, despite his state, I took him to the mall anyway. This was a mistake.

Edmund was very drunk, falling down drunk, yelling at strangers drunk. Not violent, but stubborn. It was both embarassing and confusing. Fate smiled upon me when I ran into a friend who has the patience of a saint. She dragged him into American Eagle and managed to find him some jeans while I stood by in horror.

I also recall running into some girls he went to school with. The conversation seemed tense and awkward and at the time I figured it was because Edmund was drunk. I later found out he was dating one of the girls present, who was stunned to find him at the mall. Drunk. With his ex-girlfriend.

It's to that girl I say forgive me. Edmund existed on a different level from the rest of us, and that day was not my doing. Nor was the ill-fated trip to Illinois and the aftermath that followed.

I was just a girl in love.