So this happened last year. I was working as a bartender in this kinda fancy bar in LA where a lot of people come to show off. You get influencers, actors, TikTok people… that kind of crowd. One Friday night, this guy comes in with a girl. He looked like some Hollywood dude. Tall, kinda flashy, wearing expensive shit, beard perfectly trimmed, just screaming “I think I’m important.” The girl he was with was one of those types that look like they live on Instagram. She didn’t say much. He, on the other hand, was being loud and acting like he owned the place. Demanding a table that was already reserved, talking down to waitresses, trying to be funny but really just being a jerk. Then he said something to my coworker (who’s really sweet btw) like: Are your hands good for anything other than pouring drinks? She just looked shocked. I saw red. I told him, Yo man, maybe treat people like people, not like background extras in your life. He gave me that look like, you don’t know who you’re tal...
Not in the poetic sense of "she didn’t notice I liked her"... no, she knew. She knew I cared deeply. She knew I’d be there when no one else was. She knew I’d always reply, always listen, always show up when it mattered. And I think... she liked having that. Someone who made her feel special when she needed it, but never someone she wanted to keep.
She played with hearts. Not in the evil way... not malicious... but she liked attention. She loved being wanted. And I was one of the many guys orbiting her, hoping one day I’d be "the one."
I ignored the red flags. I justified her hot-and-cold energy. I told myself, "She’s just figuring herself out. Maybe one day she’ll see that I’m the one who actually cares."
But she didn’t.
She chose someone else.
Not because he was better.
Not because he loved her more.
But because he was more exciting. A thrill. A challenge.
And me? I was the safety net. The backup plan. The one she texted when she had a fight with him. The one she called when she was crying at 2am. The guy she never chose, but never wanted to lose.
That realization shattered me.
So I stopped.
No big fight. No drama. Just silence.
I started replying with cold, dry responses. Pushed her to go spend time with her boyfriend instead of wasting it on me. I stopped checking in, stopped asking how her day went, stopped caring like I used to. At first, she acted confused. Then annoyed. Then angry. She hated that I changed. That I was no longer the guy waiting at her emotional doorstep.
And eventually, I vanished.
No texts. No calls. No presence.
Just... gone.
Months passed. I heard from mutual friends she’d been asking about me. Trying to find ways to reach me. Said something felt missing. That things didn’t feel the same anymore.
She felt the emptiness I used to fill.
But I wasn’t there anymore.
Because I realized I was never her first choice.
And I deserve to be someone’s first choice.
No, this isn't a story where she comes running back and we end up together. This is a story about me choosing peace over pain. About walking away when I finally understood my worth.
If she ever reads this:
I hope you’re happy.
But I’m not your second option anymore.
Not now. Not ever again.
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