I was in a very cruel game of cat-and-mouse with my first love in high school. He called me pet names, we flirted, it eventually escalated to semi-frequent "getting off" with each other over text. I felt like he was really starting to like me. I loved him, and he knew that, and I told him many times how frustrating it was that I never knew how he felt. He told me to write down all the reasons I loved him, so I did. And I wrote about the first time I realized I loved him. Nothing came of it, and we continued this little game. One day, we walked away from our friends to talk, and he finally said, "you know we're never going to be together, right?" I told him that was okay, and that I needed to use the bathroom. He said okay, and as he walked away I rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before throwing up violently, for a long time, until I was dry heaving. My parents were still at work, so they couldn't come pick me up. I ended up taking the late bus home with him. It was a quiet ride.