i'd set up a roleplay account on a whim—using my real photos but a made-up name, just to dip my toes into something new. My best friend Marian was never one to let me stay cooped up in my comfort zone; one lazy afternoon, she practically begged me to join her in "random texting" guys on the platform, saying we'd never know who we might meet. We'd shot messages to a few people before, most conversations fizzling out after just a couple of lines, but everything changed when I sent a silly, off-the-cuff note to someone named Lloyd. From the very first reply, he was different—hilariously funny, with jokes that had me laughing so hard I'd have to put my phone down, and impossibly kind, always asking about my day, my worries, my little joys as if they mattered more than anything. Talking to him felt effortless, like finding a piece I didn't even know was missing from my days, and before long, our chats were the first thing I looked for when I woke up and the last thing I'd think about before falling asleep.
Our conversations stretched longer and longer—we'd talk for hours about everything and nothing at all, sharing stories from our childhoods, dreams for our futures, even the tiny, mundane details of our days that suddenly felt important just because we were telling each other. Before I knew it, he'd started dropping hints about how much I meant to him, and one evening, he formally asked to court me over chat. Even though we were miles apart and had never met face-to-face, every word he typed felt as real as the air I breathed—he'd send me good morning messages that made my chest flutter, stay up late just to make sure I wasn't alone when I was feeling down, and remember the smallest things I'd mentioned weeks before. For the first time in my life, I didn't just think I was loved—I felt it deep in my bones, and the warmth of that feeling was so strong that I knew without a doubt I'd fallen head over heels in love.
We were so deeply wrapped up in our love that trust came as naturally as breathing—we'd even exchanged our account passwords for everything, from social media to the gaming platforms we used, never once questioning that the other would keep our space safe and respected. Most evenings, we'd log on together to play our favorite online games, laughing as we fumbled through tough levels or celebrated every small victory like it was a major win. Of course, we weren't perfect—there were little arguments now and then, over silly things like which character to pick or how we'd spend our next scheduled video call. But even when tempers flared for a moment, we never let pride get in the way; we'd always pause, take a breath, and talk through whatever was bothering us until we found our way back to each other, making every small conflict feel like just another part of building something real and lasting.
Slowly, things began to shift—he started spending more time texting his girl best friend and other female friends, often leaving our game lobbies early or taking longer to reply to my messages. The change was subtle at first, but it didn't take long for it to weigh on me. When I finally worked up the courage to bring it up, my voice shaky as I asked if we could talk, he just brushed it off with a simple smile through the screen: "It's just friends, baby—don't worry about it." Being new to all of this, never having been in a relationship before, I didn't know what else to do but nod and force myself to believe him. I told myself I was being silly, that trusting him meant giving him space to keep his own friendships, but no matter how hard I tried, a tight knot of jealousy sat heavy in my chest, a feeling I'd never experienced before and didn't know how to name..and i meet a boy whos clearly one year age gap from me his name is hori since its rp but his real name is ******* lets just call him hori for privacy also hes very weird guy so nonchalant so kind hes just always laughing like all the time its weird.
The small arguments we once worked through together turned into constant fights, sparked by every little thing he did—staying out late to chat with his friends without telling me, posting inside jokes with them that I didn't understand, or leaving me on read for hours on end. I'd break down crying almost every single night, my heart aching so badly that some nights I couldn't breathe. In my darkest moments, overwhelmed by depression and anxiety that felt like they were swallowing me whole, I'd hurt myself, even slitting my wrists in a desperate attempt to release the pain. But when I told him what I'd done, hoping for even a shred of comfort, he just scoffed and said I was being too dramatic, that I needed to stop overreacting. I was so lost and confused—I didn't know how to make things better, but I also couldn't bring myself to let him go. He'd made me feel more loved than I'd ever thought possible, and that deep, consuming love had tied me to him so tightly that even the pain of staying felt better than the thought of living without him.
It was well past midnight when I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, so I picked up my phone to call him—only to hear the automated voice say he was already on another line. My mind raced with questions: who could he be talking to at this hour? With trembling hands, I logged into his account, the same one he'd given me access to back when trust felt unbreakable. What I found made my legs go weak beneath me—his chat with his girl best friend Sebastian was wide open, and while they were on a voice call, he'd been typing away as she sang to him through the line. His messages were full of praise, telling her how beautiful her voice was, how he could listen to her all night long. To make it worse, she'd invited him to hang out the next day, saying they lived so close it would be easy to meet up. In that moment, every ounce of hope I'd been holding onto shattered into a million pieces, my chest tightening so much I thought I might collapse—all the lies he'd told about "just friends" crashing down on me at once.
Two days passed in a blur of tears and silence before he finally reached out, his messages flooding my screen with apologies—this was already his third time asking for forgiveness. Even though every part of me ached from what I'd seen, I found myself giving in, blinded by the love that still burned bright in my heart and clinging to the promises he'd made: that she was truly just a friend, that he'd set clearer boundaries, that he'd never make me feel this way again. For a while, those promises held true—I didn't notice anything off about his behavior anymore; he was back to texting me first thing in the morning, choosing to play games with me instead of his friends, and making sure I knew I was his priority. Little by little, the weight on my chest lifted, and I started to smile again, letting myself believe that he'd really learned from his mistakes and that things could go back to how they used to be.
Three weeks went by with everything seeming perfect, but I'd always had a sharp instinct for when things weren't right—and even though I kept telling myself I was just being paranoid, that it was nothing to worry about, little signs started to pile up. He'd once again become distant, taking longer to reply and making excuses about being busy with "school work" or "family plans." When I finally checked his account, my worst fears were confirmed: he'd been cheating again, this time with a new girl best friend named Jillie. Their messages were filled with flirty jokes, late-night plans he'd never mentioned to me, and sweet words he'd once only reserved for us. I felt sick to my stomach—all the happiness I'd just started to feel crumbling away, replaced by a familiar ache that made me wonder if I'd ever be able to trust him again
After that, the cycle just kept repeating—he'd get close to another girl, I'd find out, he'd beg for forgiveness with more promises and sweet words, and every single time, I'd fold. I loved him so deeply that even though each betrayal cut me open all over again, letting go felt like it would kill me. The pain slowly seeped into every part of my life: I couldn't focus on school, I'd pull away from Marian and other friends, and even simple things like eating or sleeping became hard to manage. My moods swung wildly—one moment I'd be clinging to the hope that this time would be different, the next I'd be sobbing uncontrollably, feeling like I was drowning in a sea of lies I'd let myself believe.
As the months went on and the betrayals piled up to eight times total, I could feel myself unraveling. The anxiety that had once been just a small knot in my chest now consumed me every second of every day, and my depression got so bad that I barely recognized myself anymore. I'd lost my sense of who I was outside of this relationship, and the constant cycle of hurt and forgiveness left me mentally unstable—some days I'd be convinced he really loved me and would change for good, other days I'd feel like I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Even though every part of me knew this wasn't right, the thought of walking away still felt impossible; he'd woven himself so tightly into my life that I didn't know how to breathe without him in it.
Tired of carrying all the pain alone, I started pulling away from Lloyd—stopping my constant messages, taking longer to reply, and spending more time with my own friends. Before long, I'd grown close to a boy best friend named Rick, who listened to me without judging and made me feel seen in ways I'd forgotten were possible. Lloyd noticed the change right away and was furious—he'd corner me on calls, demanding to know why I was spending so much time with Rick, even threatening to block him if I didn't stop talking to him. When I pushed back, my voice sharp with all the anger I'd been holding in for so long, I told him he had no right to control who I spoke to—not when he'd spent months chatting and meeting up with his own girl best friends without a second thought. This sparked even more fights, with him accusing me of being unfaithful while I fired back that I was only doing what he'd always done, finally standing up for myself instead of just taking it like I used to.
As the distance between Lloyd and me grew wider, I met a guy named Christopher in an online group chat—he was gentle, incredibly kind, and wore his heart on his sleeve, crying easily over small moments or when talking about things that mattered to him. It wasn't an act; his emotions were raw and real, and for the first time in ages, I felt like someone was truly seeing me instead of just what they wanted me to be. Before I knew it, we'd crossed the line from friends to something more, and I found myself cheating on Lloyd just like he'd done to me so many times before. Whenever Lloyd would notice me texting someone new and lose his temper, demanding to know who the guy was, I'd give him the same line he'd used on me over and over: "It's just a friend—don't worry about it." The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but part of me felt like this was how it had to be, like I was finally making him feel even a fraction of the pain he'd put me through.
Then something shifted in Lloyd—all of a sudden, he was the one pouring his whole heart into me, loving me so deeply and fiercely that it was impossible to miss. He adored me like a pea clings tight to the pot it grows in, never letting go. He'd send me handwritten letters he'd scanned and sent online, stay up for hours just to make sure I was okay, and remember every single detail I'd ever shared with him. He stopped talking to all his girl best friends, deleted their contacts, and told anyone who'd listen that I was the only one who mattered to him. Every morning started with a sweet message, every night ended with a long video call where he'd tell me how much he loved me, and for the first time since the early days, he made me feel like I was his entire world.
Slowly, I found myself falling for him again—we were together constantly, laughing like we used to, and from the outside, we looked like the perfect couple. But what he didn't know was that I'd been playing with his feelings all along, manipulating his emotions as payback for all the pain he'd caused me. One day, I ended it all by cheating right in front of him during a video call, with Christopher on the screen beside me—and I looked him straight in the eyes with no trace of regret. Lloyd broke down into sobs that were raw and real, his whole body shaking as he begged me to explain why I'd do this to him after everything he'd changed for. In that moment, guilt hit me like a wave, making my chest tighten and my eyes burn with tears I refused to let fall—but every time I tried to feel sorry, all I could see were the nights I'd cried alone, the scars on my wrists, and the lies he'd told me over and over again. Those memories turned my heart cold, leaving me feeling more like a heartless girl than the person I'd once been.