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I wrote this like two days ago. Writing is how I get these kinds of stories out of my head.

Brent

We met in Psychology 101 two years ago.
One day, in class we were playing Jeopardy and he and another friend, Matt, were on my team, as well as a person I don't remember. I had read the chapter and got like every answer right. We didn't win, but I did great anyway, cause I have a photographic memory.
My team was really happy. They were giving me high-fives and looking to me when they were confused.
Anyway, I don't know how this came about, but Brent muttered under his breath, "I have blood in my urine." I answered with, "What are you? On your period?" (Totally my type of humor.) Matt was sitting right beside me, so he heard that and laughed(I think). Brent hadn't heard me, so he asked. I was like, No. Don't tell don't tell! but he did. Even though Brent is black, I'm pretty sure he was blushing, because I clearly wasn't supposed to hear that.
So we started talking in a strange but...ok way.
My birthday was coming up. My sister gave me thought of, since dad is gone, throw a party. Have alcohol.
So. I invited all my friends at the time(who aren't my friends anymore.), and I saw Brent walking in the dark, and I was like Hey, I know him...so I invited him.
The party was great. I felt like I shouldn't have invited Brent because he was sitting in the corner the whole time, not talking. Maybe he was shy. When he had to leave, I gave him a hug and said thanks for coming and bringing the cheese balls. He started feeling me up, went under my shirt. Now, me, I didn't see that as a warning sign. My sister was coming up the stairs, so I told him to stop and he did. Just hugged and left.
The next weekend he came over with The Changling, I don't know why but we turned it off. Oh! before I put it in, we had some of the champagne a friend brought for me.
After it was off, he started feeling me again, and kissing me, and picked me up and brought me to the bedroom. I started to cry, and just said I was afraid of sex(true). He held me in his arms for a little while I cried. Said something about how we didn't have to. I don't remember this, but knowing me, I would've said, No, it's fine. I needed to get used to this. I do remember saying, out loud, "Sarah, this is how adults have fun."
He let me choose the condom flavor and asked if I wanted the lights on or off.

So, that, in a way, was romantic-ish. The most romance I've ever had anyway. Actually, that was the FIRST romantic moment I've had. Wasn't anywhere near my idea of romance, but was the first time I'd ever had it.(maybe that's part of the reason I began crying too). It's the first time I'd ever been thought of. So, in this way, he broke my 'mental' virginity.
Honestly, I don't think it could've gone better if I had planned it. It was sweet.
He came over a few more times and before I moved we had done it three times.
Then he asked for a relationship. My excuse was I'm moving after the semester.
I was embarrassed. If I wasn't moving, I don't know what I would have said or done in response to his request.
I was kindof expecting him to just forget me, and it be a sweet memory.
But in February, he called. That just really surprised me. We talked and laughed.
He kept calling me for a little while. We had great conversations. I remember he loved the fact that I'm a natural brunette. I grew my hair out, because he said he liked long hair. I sent him totally random texts saying “Hi.” I kept thinking about him and everything. I asked for his address so I could write letters. I wrote every two weeks or so. He never wrote back.
He only answered the texts with pictures of me naked. And kept answering those with things like, “You treat me so good, babe.”, “Drop that towel a little lower..” and “I can’t wait to feel you…” things that made me smile, but uncomfortable.
In the summer, he said he'd wait for me. I cried. I sent him a birthday card.
In November, he said he loved me from the bottom of his heart.

Then the calls stopped. I wondered what had happened. Was he ok? Had he been a part of a gang I didn’t know about? Did his sister die? He was probably at a concert. Was he dead? He looked and seemed healthy. Did some family thing pop up? Maybe his phone broke or got lost. But he doesn’t seem the type to let that go for long. Why isn’t he leaving messages? Or calling at all? I left messages. I called twice on his birthday. Had I scared him by my mention of marriage? In all fairness, he did mention “our kids” once. If he was scared of something I said, why didn’t he talk to me so both of us could understand? He probably got scared off by me wanting him to meet my mom. Why would he? My mom is no one to be scared of. Why isn’t he writing? He has my address.

I thought of every question imaginable.
Then came angry thoughts. I’m going to yell at him. I don’t deserve this. He’s not respecting me. I deserve ******** attention! Did he not say he didn’t want to go out of my comfort zone? Why did he only respond when I sent naked pictures? Why doesn’t he leave messages? I’m the one doing all the communicating here. Why isn’t he? Why didn’t he send anything for my birthday? Why does he not respond to my texts?

I deleted him from my phone entirely.

On the last day of March, he texted me.
“Hello.”
“Who is this?” I knew very well who it was.
“Brent.”
I went upstairs and called him. I meant to be mad. I was preparing myself to be mad at him.
“Hello?”
“You haven’t called since November…..Explain.”
Apologies and this and that happened. His car broke, therefore his grades were dropping and he got fired from his job. “I looked you up.” he said. It took a while to find my number apparently.
“You are not in Iraq. The only people from whom silence can be expected and accepted from are people in Iraq. You have my address. If you can’t call, you can write.”
Then he asked what was he in my phone?
“Oh, I deleted you.”
“Whaaat?”
“You didn’t call for five months.”
“What was I in your phone?” he persisted in a joking tone. He was expecting something like “Sugar daddy”.
“Brent.”
“What?” Incomprehension. Disappointment.
“Brent. Your name.”

I could’ve turned that around on him. “What was I in your phone?” I could’ve said. “If I was in your phone, there is no reason why you can’t have called. If your phone had broken, you would have my phone number memorized so you could get to me, seeing as I instantly recognized your number.”
I thought that was too mean to say. But I should have.
We got lost in conversation again, and talked for five hours. I liked that.
I had it in my head to say, “I’m a priority, not an option.” Something a friend reminded me of.
The next day, he called again.
“I’m at work. Let me go outside.” I said.
He began to talk like this had never happened. As if he expected things to go back to the way they were. Back in November.
“Can I talk for a minute?” I asked.
He agreed.
“You didn’t call. You are not in Iraq. So why didn’t you call? If you couldn’t call, you had my address which is the most basic form of communication; it’s been around for centuries. It baffles me that you could not think to do so. If I am so important to you, I would’ve been the first thing on your mind. YOU DIDN’T CALL. I am a talker. I talk. That’s what I do. I like feedback. I’m a very social person.
You didn’t call. That’s a huge point of disrespect for me.”
…..
“Do you remember? I was naked and you were naked and we watched the sunrise?”
“Yes. Is my nakedness what you value?”
“NO!”
…..
“I should talk to Becky about this. I don’t know how to think or how to feel.”
“No. Not Becky.” in a whine.

Blah blah. “I don’t want to be last on your priority list.--”
“I was last on yours!” I slammed the phone shut.

Again, he called. “I’m working. We’ll talk later.”

He sent me a text. “Hey, I jus got off work.” Is that what you think I mean by communication? Telling me every action?

That night, I thought of what else I should say to him.
I didn’t know what to think or feel about this. I called Sketch. He ended up convincing me to let him call Brent. Although my palms were sweaty for fear of hurting Brent’s feelings, I knew it was over between us. He never would know how important he was to me. And I don’t think he cared.

Sketch called back. He had left a message. “This is Sarah’s boyfriend. Stop calling her.”
Tears pricked at my eyes but didn’t fall. If I wasn’t the first thing on his mind, I wasn’t anything to him. We both wanted a relationship. We both had feelings. I think his were more about sex and my nudity, but there was something else there as well. It was obvious to me now, all he wanted was sex. The more I thought of the our short past, the more obvious it became.
“Love from the bottom of my heart” What a line. His words had drawn me in perfectly.

I knew he would be hurt. Maybe cry. My heart went to him, but I couldn’t take back my own words. Words are the most powerful thing we own. The difference is, some people are careless with them; some think they really don’t matter; and I know how to interpret and use them.
His words and actions didn’t match.

I can’t call him and say what I want. Say what I need. What he needs. It’s like ladybugs. If you spot one, there’s bound to be more. Ladybugs don’t have the capacity to understand that you want them to stop or go away.
People do.
But he didn’t get it.

I had to make him understand indefinitely that what he did was unquestionably wrong.

Yea, I think compound sentences seem to be a thing with me... stressed
What's colloquial? never heard that term before..
I always seem to point that out to others...but...I guess I do it without realizing. how do i 'show and not tell'?
tighter prose?? what's that?

Colloquial language is slang, and can be really effective if used correctly.

With show not tell, it's complicated. If you have a character there are two scenarios.
1 - Joe was agitated.
2 - Joe clasped his hands between his thighs, while they bounced against the hard plastic of the chair.
Show emotion rather than state it and it becomes more realistic.
Sometimes I get this wrong, but through editing, I get rid of it all.

Tighter prose is more compact writing, so that no word is there for no reason. Like this sentence:
'So. I invited all my friends at the time(who aren't my friends anymore.), and I saw Brent walking in the dark, and I was like Hey, I know him...so I invited him.'
To make this tighter, you need to cut out the bits you've already explained. Don't play with the reader's intelligence and repeat things needlessly. To make it tighter, I'd personally re-write it:
'I invited all my friends at the time, and Brett who happened to be walking past.'
Don't write for writing's sake. Few readers have patience for long-winded sentences that are littered with slang and needless parts. The second sentence is basically what you said, condensed to something tighter.


Don't get me wrong, I like helping people with their writing. I wouldn't be here without the help people gave me, and it's led to publications in magazines. What I try to do is draw myself out of my comfort zone and experiment. Biography is one way...have you thought perhaps writing in a more memoir form? Look it up and tell me what you think.

We all have a story inside us, and it's nice getting it out. I always say that the best resource a writer has is his or her past. So mine it. You don't have to go over the top but if you want to read effective memoir-style or biography work I would recommend: Margaret Atwood (Cat's Eye or Handmaiden's Tale) or perhaps even one in a genre.

Fiction writing is the place to be at the moment, apart from biography, what else do you want to write?

Originality is key and if you feel using your inner thoughts as a voice will work - have you heard of the stream-of-consciousness technique? It involves a characters constant stream of thought process, but written in a tight manner still. You take on the character's persona completely, in the voice you think they will have.