The end seems so funny looking back through the lense of all I know now. I found a text that you missed in your mass data deletion, presumably because it was assumed to have been a conversation with a neutral party. You were asking for donations, of course, and they were telling you to do side gigs. Somewhere at the top of the feed, they asked if you could do a drop off, drugs I assume, and you replied that your friend with the car had recently dumped you, saying, “Don’t contact me anymore,” and providing no explanation.
It’s funny, cuz I suspected that someone had been driving you around. That’s the only way you would have been able to manage both spending all of my money on self-assigned errands and having an affair. Walking would have taken up too much of your without-me time to have been conducive. I considered it one of my crazier ideas and shoved it back down the neural network from which it came, fearful of upsetting you more than my ceaseless prying already did.
The events of that morning make sense now, when you pushed my legs out of the way to place yours where they were. Any other time, you would have wrapped yourself around me, but in the morning haze, you
couldn’t hide your desire for me not to be there. It must have been a whirlwind for you, breaking up with your precious Ashley or Danielle or Sarah or whoever the fuck had my car, then inviting Autumn to
come down so you could nurse the mild ache, and all the while having me in the background of your life trying to dig up the truth. I bore the brunt of your frustration, God, how you hated me then. I couldn’t
do anything right. Every word was critical, you relished those shoves and lived to launch small objects at me. Somehow your side chick leaving you was my fault, and Autumn wasn’t supposed to be so ugly.
You resented her for that more than you likely cared about the impact her presence had on me. I was nearly a non-factor, an irritant, and at night, another warm hole. All that I mistook for affection was
merely relief at not being forced to fuck Autumn.
Did you ever love me? Did you ever think of me as a person?
You said at one point, around the time you stared offering up your phone, finally certain of having sufficiently hidden the proof I was seeking, that our final month had made apparent my affection. Apparently losing weeks of my time going through your online files without permission and bawling my eyes out and calling you names and starting fights every other day, and fucking you anyway, is your love language. But I don’t think your statement was true. I think you made the determination that I was “good enough” after all, that since you couldn’t have the chubby, heroin injecting car thief that was presently making your blood boil, good ol reliable would do. You had to test me though, and even after I slept outside with you, so you picked fights all damn day the next day. You had already discarded me in your mind, why the fuck was I still here, and why was I the option you got stuck with? If you were gonna settle, you had to make sure I was solid, and you couldn’t just let me get away with being so damn beta.
Even your goodbye letter, God I wanted to believe it, in light of all of this seems manipulative. Yes, you did all the things you confessed to and more. No, I didn’t deserve it. When I first imagined how you must have been at it’s writing, I saw remorse, maybe several tears. Really, your face was probably hard like stone and any guilt you might have felt was mild. Certainly, there was no sense of losing everything you’ve ever wanted, the way that I feel losing you. I flatter myself. You’re ashamed, maybe, but your concerns are ethical, not sentimental. Otherwise, you’re just telling me what I want to hear so you can have your cushy life back under my maternal care.
When you were satisfied with your essay, you switched over to your browser app to check your inbox on UberHorny.com
I had some fantasy of you magically turning your life around because of this, like losing me was monumental enough to make you change. Now I’m fairly sure that I’m mistaken. But since I don’t want to suffer in vain, I implore you to change anyway, if not because you loved me then because I am right. Not that truth is one of your values… Not that you have any values at all.
Wasted, then. You were a waste.
You should at least count as a charity donation on my taxes.