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  Not A Love Story

  Rayana Hughes

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Rayana S. Hughes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, Web address: Rayanaselestebooks.com

  First paperback edition April 2021

  Book design by Ashley Santoro

  ISBN 978-1-7369883-0-5 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-7369883-2-9 (ebook)

  www.Rayanaselestebooks.com

  To all you lovesick or love-lacking precious humans,

  this is for you.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Love’s Beginning

  My Beginning to The End.

  Age 7

  Age 8

  Age 10

  Age 11-13

  Age 14 (Paperboy)

  Intermission: Cheaters

  Age 16-18

  Age 19

  Intermission: My Life in Question

  Age 22 - Shark attack

  Intermission: It’s All About Me … Get Used To It

  Intermission: Me, Of Course

  Intermission: More on Love

  Intermission: Long Distance

  Age 23 - Oh, Don’t Do It

  Age 24

  Intermission: Family Matters

  Age 25 (The Fun One)

  Age 25 - The Buggy

  Age 25 - Average

  Intermission: Choco Judgement

  Age 25 - Darrell

  Intermission: Open Up

  Age 25 - Ricardo

  Intermission: Operation Third Wheel

  Age 25 - Ricardo: Part Two

  Age 25 - Franky Risible

  Age 25 - If it Looks Bad, and Smells Bad, it Probably is Bad

  Age 25 - Realization

  Age 26

  Age 26 - My Own Darn Fault

  Age 27 (Less Somber, I promise)

  Intermission: Soulmates

  Intermission: Big Gestures

  Age 28

  Intermission: Fears of Which I Abominate

  Intermission: Through the Seasons (of Love)

  Age 29

  Intermission: There Truly is No Time Like the Present

  Age 30 - Presenting the Present

  Intermission: Phrases for the Less Fortunate

  Intermission: Lackluster at Best

  Intermission: Nervous?

  Intermission: Hot or Not

  Intermission: How to Tell if Someone Likes You

  Age Thirty Resumed

  Last Intermission: Hey

  Age 30 - The Conclusion

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Love’s Beginning

  Imagine if we lived in a world where love was a person. I don’t mean Cupid or some love doctor, I mean, imagine if the literal composition of love was stuffed into a physical body. Not male or female, no defining features at all. Just this essence that exists when a new relationship begins between two people. If you’ve been able to conjure up some variation of what you think that might look like, allow me to explain mine.

  First, you take two specimens—those who have somehow found their way to each other. The relationship might simply exist for the character development of the person who needed it. Or it may be the start of a blossoming journey. The intention won’t be apparent at the beginning of every relationship. But say the pair reach a point where they can confidently say they are madly in love: that’s where Love comes in. Love acts as the mediator. Even in times of adversity, love attempts to see the relationship through to the very end, providing the reasons why two people should try harder to be the best they can for each other. It’s easier in that moment to say that it’s Love who could handle all the problems that arise from a developing relationship.

  But, if we take the time to see Love as a person, and not as a driving force that keeps two people from moving on from one another, we might notice that there comes a time when Love is just not enough. Not everything will work out because we want it to, sometimes enough isn’t enough, and that’s okay.

  It's hard to trust in the process of Love when it’s something that you cannot see. That’s where I think things get complicated, because the actions of people that surround and care about us can represent love. Love is in everything we do, and sometimes it’s the very reason why we do the things we do. More on that later, but I think it’s important to understand that Love is not something to be attained, it’s not a race to see who can be happiest first. It’s not a marker to measure the biggest family, or the most memorable moments a person has with their significant other. Love is especially not the things you see on a screen, or even read in a book. I think that we can forget that relationships are real, they are full of ups and downs. They are only the business of the people hoping to try something new with someone they’ve decided to care enough about.

  Most of my childhood, I struggled with understanding that there was a time and place for everything. I thought that point A led to point B and so on, that I would find my soulmate before my real chapter began. I figured it wouldn’t be hard to find a guy that I thought checked all the boxes. But the truth is, I spent a lot of time liking guys who just didn’t have the capacity to like me back. It was as if I went for the guys I knew could never see moi for moi, I was afraid that if I met a guy who liked every part of me, it would be too good to be true. I allowed myself to get disappointed time and time again because I figured, “Hey, at least they were real.”

  I ignored all their flaws and decided that the way I imagined them in my head was the way they were in real life. But the worst part was that these guys were not bad wolves. They were normal people doing normal things and displaying real emotions. But I expected them to read my mind, to know my thoughts, to know the way I wanted them to act. And just like that, I wanted them to make it happen.

  Whatever “it” was tended to depend on the guy and the situation. I’ve been chasing my image of what love should be for a very long time. One day, I realized that whilst love is in everything we do, it means something different to every person. But that also applies to said person and their attraction to someone else. Yet, my biggest mistake has never been rushing into love, because I’m aware of how tricky that can be. Instead, my biggest mistake was not accepting that the answer might just be no.

  A resounding no at that, to the people who I think are supposed to turn out the way I want them to. I’ve always viewed the closing of a door in a glass half-empty sort of way, instead of realizing that maybe my biggest defense is the thing I can’t see. It’s the love I have for myself, or rather, the love I’m learning to have for myself.

  Before you blow this off as another “love yourself, sappy story”—bear with me. Take a moment to fill up a glass with liquid love for yourself. How full is it? Be honest because that’s where things start to turn around. Now, imagine Love as a person again, helping you decide how much of it to give to the different things in your life. Love is no longer the mediator between you and another person. Love is the gatekeeper to your mind and soul. It decides who or what gets your love, but also who or what needs the love from someone or something that’s not you. In this life, we all have different paths, and sometimes those paths intertwine. Sometimes, the paths are meant to cross each other, but that’s all they’re supposed to do.

  It’s good to accept the idea of impermanence, not in a negative way but rather, the idea that, no matter how hung up you get
over someone, if they aren’t the one for you (or if you don’t believe in soulmates, “the best one” for you) then you will get over them. It was hard for me to get over a lot of the guys I fell for because I was hard on myself for liking them. I got irritated at my inability to move on, even when it seemed that they had.

  I had to learn about the process of healing. Some cases were just school crushes… Actually, they all were. But a few meant more to me than I cared to admit. I just couldn’t find a way to move on. So, I want to share those stories. I want you to know that it’s okay to be stuck sometimes. What you learn while you’re stuck might help you to never feel the way you did again.

  However, we are creatures of habit, and you might fall into the trap again. I know I have, but you need to find that motivation to crawl out: not for anyone else, find that motivation for yourself. Realize that you and that person are not a match. There is someone out there that is better for them. But there is also someone else out there better for you.

  What do you say to trying to get over our ideas of what the perfect relationship looks like together? We just happen to be part of the percentage of people who get a delayed serving of romance, the kind of romance that lasts a lifetime. But I’d like to think that it’s out there.

  There are more things important in life than finding a source for your undying affection, but it’s a lot easier to do life with someone else than it is alone. Now, if you prefer to be alone, you have my full support, I am rooting for you.

  But if you are like me, and starting to get a little impatient, boy have we got a lot to learn.

  Where’s my happily ever after?

  My Beginning to The End.

  The following stories are tidbits from my futile love life. I have tried and tried again, yet no one has dared call me “the one.” I would like to believe that I’m not particularly despicable, but my luck with men may state otherwise. There are many ways you could choose to spend your time, and I won’t judge you for choosing to skip the complaints made by me documented in this book. But, if you choose to stay, you’re in for a roller coaster, my own personal roller coaster called: “When does it end?” It’s in your best interest to strap in. I've been waiting my entire life to do this, and nothing is going to stop me from exposing the less than chivalrous men I’ve encountered.

  Off the record, I want kids, and at this point, I may have to adopt, my biological clock is ticking as they say. I’ve always wanted a big family: in fact, until recently, I thought it’d be fun to have enough kids to form our own family soccer team with alternates. I figured twenty-two rug rats would do the trick and assuage my love-aching soul, although I don’t know how enjoyable it would be to take them grocery shopping. I imagine myself having a mental breakdown in the cereal aisle and telling the rotten kids that they are on my hit list, which would instantly put me in trouble with child protection services, but what’s one more violation? I’ll have already had three by then, one for forgetting ten of the kids at the amusement park, another for a shortage of food, so the spoiled brats only got three square meals a day instead of the usual eight. And lastly, the screams heard by the neighbors. No, I wouldn’t have caused them, but it would instead be the kid playing in the two-by-two watering pond I dug in the backyard because money was short. Hey, twenty-two kids will DRAIN you.

  Alas, I feel as if I should probably get back to my despair and explain how I came into this hopeless situation. For starters, I had a totally normal childhood: both parental figures, an older brother, a dog, some snails, a bunny, multiple fish, a borderline hermit crab—I even looked into getting a starfish, but I didn’t have a permit. Everything was at least mediocre until high school. Let me be the millionth to say that it’s definitely not like the movies. I turned sixteen and expected the guys to swoon over me, but unfortunately, that was a very unreal reality. They pretty much ran if I came near or they asked me a question about the homework, and this process continued all through high school into college and past. Tragic really, it’s not like I was weird or anything. I had plenty of crushes, but the worst part of having a crush is the unproved fact that he or she 84.9% of the time does not like you back. I turned thirty yesterday, time is running out. I’m stuck in a loophole of work, sleep, despair, and my friends with their perfect lives. This existence is no joke, and milkshakes cannot always solve your problems.

  Love sucks

  Age 7

  I was seven when I first discovered boys were not as repulsive as I believed them to be. This was the only year of my life where I can remember a boy liking me, while I simply hated him. Otherwise known as the only time a guy liked me and was man enough to act on it. Recess was my favorite subject as a kid, and I seem to only remember the times from childhood where I was running around screaming “you’re it” at no one in particular before tailing it to the slide. To set the scene, we were out on the playground one afternoon and his name was Chuck. Imagine a blubbering, hardheaded, son-of-a-constructor type of dude. I mean, he was nice, but he was kind of weird. I’m not going to sit here and act like he wasn’t. So anyway, he had a huge crush on me and I was still a firm believer that all the male species in elementary school had cooties.

  Side story, we once went on a field trip to this place that took you back in time and showed you how the Native Americans lived during the Spanish colonization. I had to watch in terror as this girl across from me, at the Blacksmith’s well, pulled out a line of snot with the biggest booger you ever did see, inspect it, and eat it. When she realized where she was, she looked around and saw me perpetually staring at her, and then she went back to picking her nose. Needless to say, I was traumatized.

  If you’re wondering how this relates to my love life, well, directly after, before I had a chance to heed the whole second grade warning, she proceeded to hold this little boy’s hand. I’m absolutely positive that he never washed his hands, so that booger excess spread to every boy and toy in the second grade class, and although I was young, even I had my limits. It wasn’t so much the fact that she picked her nose because everyone does that, but more the fact that I had to watch her devour it …

  Anyway, back on topic, little Chuck was a character and he was very protective of me on the playground. Another boy named Dean, who was as rude as he was large—imagine P Wee Herman versus Goliath—approached me.

  Being the smart mouth I was, I decided to converse with Dean about his stupidity and him being so much larger, he threatened to break my arm. Of course, the natural response was to tell him: “Do it, I dare you.”

  In reverberation, here came Chuck to the rescue. He jumped in front of me and growled: “No one breaks my girl’s arm!” Then, the bell rang, and he scattered. But don’t worry. Apparently, Dean was embarrassed and as he started to walk away from me, I made him repeat what Chuck had said just to make sure I heard it right.

  Ladies and gentlemen, that was officially the first and last time I was the crushee. Chuck continued to like me for a few more months before losing interest as most guys do and moving on to another girl with a French braid. I almost wish I had given him a chance. He was a knucklehead, sure, but he really cared about me and was willing to get knocked out by Dean if it meant “saving my life.” What a sacrifice. Truly, Chuck was the last ounce of chivalry in the world.

  As of today, Chuck is married to a model from Switzerland, so who’s the real loser here?

  A model. From Switzerland.

  Age 8

  This next tragic excerpt details my third-grade misconception. There was this guy in my class, he was a charmer and he knew it. He constantly picked on me and naturally I liked him even more because of it. I don’t think he was ever nice to me— spoiler, if a guy is mean to you, the chances of that being because he likes you are slim to none. That dude was an absolute wrench, he didn’t want me to be happy and hopeful. He crushed my feelings like vermin and didn’t even realize it. He started my unlucky streak.

  Okay, so here’s the actual analysis, bear with me. On one beautiful,
sunny day on the playground where all my affairs seem to take place, news had spread. “Jeremy was going to ask someone out!” I don’t know who in their right mind thought it would be okay to tell me this because I was ready for a smooch and I pursued.

  Now, don’t allow yourself to be tainted by what I’m about to disclose, it was not my proudest moment. I followed him. He went down the slide, so did I, when he played tag, I was running behind— little Waverly had to know how this beautiful yob perceived her. I was not only creepy, but I was desperate: what I really needed was therapy, more on that later. Anyway, recess was nearing the end, and I was growing impatient. The most logical thing for me to do next was corner him, so I did, as well as two other girls. But then, things turned shoddy. He announced that he would be asking out the girl he liked. I stood to attention, all ears. The next part occurred in slow motion. He started walking in the direction of the girl he liked, in my direction! Sure, one of the girls was standing next to me, but his eyes were focused on me. I felt so triumphant, I could just hear the wedding bells. He stopped right in front of me and right as I was about to claim my prize, he said three demolishing words: “I like Lindsey.” A.k.a the lassie standing next to me. They only dated for about a month, but I had to see them every day swinging on the playground set and chasing each other. My third-grade brain translated everything they did in slow motion, with background music and a rose gold tint. I even requested to sit inside sometimes at recess, just to avoid the very public relationship.

  To be so young and rejected did serious damage on my thoughts. I particularly targeted my ex-crush with an agenda. I would rat him out if I thought he was doing anything the teacher said not to, I even pretended he pushed me one time so that he would get a bad mark on his behavior chart. The worst part was that our moms were friends, so I had to entertain him on our many playdates. I figured I could make things as miserable as possible, so I refused to share any of my toys with him and taunted him with my candy stash. As I write this, I feel slightly guilty, but he was a jerk, and he hurt my feelings. Of course, that means I get to turn into the evil child, it’s only fair. I conclude my digression and will take no further questions on why I think I am unlucky.