Over the years there’s been a lot of music that has been ruined for me, always by my miserable ex-boyfriends. Weezer’s “Say it Ain’t So” reminds me of my first kiss, from a boy who had previously dated my sister. “Layla” is inextricably tied to an argument about which version was better, Clapton’s original or unplugged, three days before my high school graduation (and three days before the breakup – ouch). Still, no one can ruin a song like your first love, however undeserving he may be.

When I was a junior in high school, I dated a boy named James. James was, to put it mildly, a giant douchebag. He did a lot of drugs, dealt a lot of drugs, skipped school, and worshipped Kevin Smith. He was eloquent, charming, and totally worthless. Nevertheless, he was attractive in an extremely skinny and slightly dirty sort of way, and since I was, at the time, pretty nerdy (academic bowl, speech and debate, honor society, all that) I found him both intriguing and exciting. While I was dating James I smoked pot for the first time, got truly drunk for the first time, skipped class for the first time, and started listening to terrible grunge music for the first time. My taste in music is eclectic, so I did my best to grin and bear his choices, and for the most part things were fine. Or at least they were fine, until “Closer.”

I’d never paid much attention to Nine Inch Nails, but for some reason, that fall “Closer” was ubiquitous. One night, as we were parked by the side of the road down a deserted street, locked in a sweaty embrace, James decided it would be both sweet and romantic to sing to me. He leaned in close, his breath hot in my ear, and whispered, “I want to fuck you like an animal.” I think he mistook my look of horror for encouragement, because he continued: “I want to feel you from the inside.” I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Who says that? James, that’s who. I guess he thought I liked it, because he repeated those two lines, over and over, for the remaining two months of our relationship. I’m pretty sure he considered it our song.

And yet, for some strange reason, I remained in love with him. I was devastated when he dumped me (in the parking lot ten minutes before the start of school, no less). I cried for months, all the way through when he dropped out of school, past his new and unattractive goth girlfriend, after he started doing meth. In a way, even though he is skinnier than ever and looks like the disease-riddled addict he is, I might still consider seeing him again. I know it was a miserable relationship, and he was a miserable human being, but my stomach ties in knots every time I hear Nine Inch Nails (luckily, nowadays my friends have better taste than that). Other boys have ruined songs for me, but only briefly. I no longer have any real trouble with “Layla” or “Say It Ain’t So,” but “Closer” still makes me a little ill. Although, on reflection, it might just be that the song itself is pretty terrible.