Because, obviously, I’m not in quite enough pain here! We met a couple of months back, and damned if I wasn’t smitten with you. So I did something I never did before, I busted my ass to get you to notice me!!! I’ve fucked up plenty of relationships in the past, and this time I swore it was going to be different. I swore that this time I was going to do all I could to make the fucking relationship work.
And I did. I did every possible thing I could think of, I fought back my fear and asked you out, and I did my best to make our times together as interesting as I could. Hell, in the time we were “together” I spent more money on you and went more places with you, than I did with several of my previous girlfriends combined! Why, because I knew you were special and its so goddamn rare that I meet a woman, I’m really, really interested in, I knew if I let you slip away because I was a craven little coward, I’d never forgive myself.
So what happens? You meet some other guy and talk with him for a couple of hours and BAM! I’m history (don’t even bother to call me and tell me anything)! Okay, I can live with that, I’ve been dumped before, I’ll get over it and move on. Of course, you’ve got other plans…
You decided that you’re going to spend all your time with dude. Your business, not mine. I’m working on getting through the pain and am almost back to normal. Then your mother calls me and says you’re missing. Oh shit! A couple of the guys you know are pretty seedy and there’s that ex-boyfriend of yours, so I’m worried as hell. Why? Because, damn it, I love you and I’d rather have you out there with someone else than dead. I spent two whole fucking days in agony, worrying if you’re still alive or not, knowing that you’ll probably never to call me and tell me you’re okay (even though I paged you as soon as I got off the phone with your mother). I’m also worried because I withheld information from your mother, because I didn’t want to have to explain to her what a “Swingers club” was (where your new boyfriend works) or what BDSM meant, because if you turned up okay, I didn’t want you to be embarrassed, because you told me how naive your mother was, and you’d no doubt be in a hell of a lot more trouble if she found out everything. Finally, your mother calls me and says you’re okay. What a relief, now I can stop worrying!
Back to patching together the pieces of my broken heart. Again, I’ve almost gotten past the pain and can be my usual surly self, when you call me! Why? To apologize, you say. Fine, I understand. It took a lot of guts for you to say and do that, and I really appreciate it (of course, I’m too wigged out by you calling for me to actually say any of this). Then you start telling me how dude’s your soulmate (oh, yeah, like I haven’t heard you say that about another guy):rolleyes:, and he’s “opened a lot of doors for you.” and how good he is to you. Of course, you’re calling me from dude’s apartment to tell me all this. Thanks. I really appreciate that part.
I wish you knew what all you put me through. I wish you knew how goddamn, motherfucking hard I worked to make things happen between us. How difficult it was for me to fight my fear and ask you out. How I fought with myself over you, the sacrifices I made for you, and how important you were to me. I wish, for one moment, you could understand that, and I hope that you never have to go through what I’ve been through with you.
I can’t even allow myself to hate you as much as I cared for you. Because if I did, it would be such a murderous and foul hatred that even Satan himself would flinch from fear.
So, I’m sitting here at home, trying to mend my shattered heart, and wondering what’s next in your little bag of tricks. If you think that I’ll be your fallback guy, you’re sadly mistaken.
Oh, and if dude’s so good for you, then why did you have to call me and thank me because it was that herbal rememdy that I’d given you weeks ago was what fought off that nasty bacterial infection which nearly rotted away your uninsured ass (which only showed up after you started seeing him)? Why couldn’t he tell you about that? Oh, and one more thing, considering all the cronic “female” problems you’ve got, I’d say the “swinging” lifestyle you’re no doubt engaging in, is probably the worst thing you could be doing. That’s sad, too, because by the time you wake up to the fact that you’ve fucked up your insides, it’ll be too late to do anything about it. And really, I have to admit, that even with all your problems, you’d make a good mother, because its obvious how good you are with kids.
