She thought I was the one. I just needed someone to want me.
We met through an online game. She was 21. I was 22. We never spoke on the phone or saw each other’s faces live. Just texts, voice notes, a few selfies. And then, eventually… sexts.
She asked me to be her partner. And I said yes.
Not because I was in love. Not even because I was sure I liked girls that way. I was lonely. Curious. Starving for attention. And there she was—sweet, kind, warm—pouring her affection over me like I actually mattered.
The truth? I wasn’t attracted to her. I wasn’t thinking about her body or her soul. I just craved the feeling of being wanted.
When she told me she loved me, I said it back. I didn’t mean it. But it felt good to hear. It felt good to pretend.
I told her lies. Made her believe I was all in.
Promised her things I never intended to do. She was falling for me—and I was watching it happen, knowing full well I wasn’t falling back.
I thought it was just online flirting. But I crossed the line.
She sent me a nude once. And I froze.
It was the first time anyone had shared something so intimate with me. She trusted me. Wanted me. And it turned me on, sure—but in a shallow, selfish way.
I sent one back. It was my first time too.
And still, even after that, I felt nothing real. No tenderness. No guilt—yet. Just the thrill of the game.
But it wasn’t a game for her.
I broke it off badly. She blocked me. I deserved it.
A month ago I told her I needed “space for my mental health.” I didn’t say we should break up. I wanted to exit quietly, without consequences.
She called me out on it. Said I wasn’t being honest.
I gave a weak apology. Said maybe we could still be friends. She blocked me the same day.
That night, I cried.
Not because I missed her. But because I realized how much I hurt someone who gave me nothing but kindness. I used her. I reduced her to a screen and a fantasy. I stole her softness and gave nothing back.
