I don’t know who the biggest asshole is here. Me or you.
I thought about this post as I was driving home, cigarette hanging out the window, my jacket zipped up and my breath filling the cabin of my car.
I haven’t written a post like this in too long. I’ve been measured, even, fair. Tonight, I am returning to the point of this blog: it is my space to feel. I owe no one a thing. You don’t read me; you never did.
I want to send this post to you, from Hyacinth Jones, not me, not “JB,” the woman you nicknamed and kept on the hook from day one, not the woman who loved you and needed you and sacrificed her own better judgment to trust you. No, you don’t get to ever hear from her again. She’s fucking dead to you. She might even be dead to me.
I want you to see an email from Hyacinth and for your stomach to clench. I don’t give two shits if you ever open it, just knowing you saw my name would be enough.
I’ve already left the brown paper bag filled with your things after you brought that woman, your girlfriend, to my gym class. I thought I was unreachable, but I was wrong. You’ve touched me again, goddamnit.
Tonight I was with Hannah, the girl we played softball with who used to dry hump your leg for kicks, and I was telling her the gym story, the story of your colossal insensitivity. “He looks too pale, washed out,” I told her. “Not to be mean or anything, it’s just true!” I always loved you with a beard.
We laughed, like assholes. Oh, what assholes!
“I’m still friends with him on Facebook,” she said. “Lemme see if he’s posted any new pics.”
I agreed that was a fine idea; you hate social media. I’d been banned from tagging you in anything. There’d be nothing to see.
She pulled you up and froze.
I took the phone from her and there you were with your arm around the woman from the gym. Smiling, so happy. Her caption read:
“Thanks for inviting us to your special day!”
So you attended a wedding with her. I remember the wedding you were in two summers ago. The one I was excluded from attending with you.
Another picture of you two at a skeeball competition. “I don’t like going out late,” I remembered you saying.
And then there were the pictures of you in your Captain America costume and she was a Brownie. “He’s the best guy,” her note claimed.
Lastly, the one that really twisted into my core, the pic of you holding her close and planting a big, smiling kiss on her cheek. I read the comments as my friend kept saying, “Put the phone down, don’t look!”
I couldn’t stop. My heart was still, my guts frozen, my breath even.
The comments were cute and then there was yours. “What a lucky guy,” it read.
You were at a popular concert venue that I wasn’t even aware you knew existed. Certainly had I suggested going you would have said, “No thanks!” as usual.
Work dinners, workout photos, everything I ever wanted you to do with me was there in photographic evidence with a pale, brunette, smaller busted version of me. Her smile soft, her arms toned.
You are an awful fucking person to never let me go despite my attempts to end things with you, a man who told me repeatedly he didn’t want to be with me, that I was the wrong person, and I am the Queen of Fucking Masochists for somehow believing that your actions spoke louder than your goddamned words.
Lies, all lies, TN.
You are a piece of shit and I wish more than anything you could know the depths of the pain you have caused me all these years, the pain you still cause me.
I trusted you when you deserved none of it. You followed me everywhere, cried every time I tried to protect myself and end our fucked up, lopsided relationship.
Three weeks before you planted that kiss on her plain, pale cheek you were crying in my living room because I was ending our friendship to save myself.
“I’ll support you no matter what, but I wish this didn’t have to happen.”
You were already burying your giant cock into this woman by then. Deeply, with power, with — dare I say it — love? You were already looking into her brown eyes and forgetting my blue. What is wrong with you that you could never let me go? That you could never give me what I needed to heal? To separate myself from you?
“I don’t want to date anyone, Hy, I swear. Those women are just middle aged ladies from my workout group. They’re no one.” Oh really, TN?? This one has attracted your cock and captured your heart apparently.
You are a deceitful, awful man.
Can I print this out and plaster your fancy black car with it? Can I vomit my pain into the ether and will you smell it?
I see you’re still on AFF. Nice. At least you continue to deceive and dally with others even when it’s not me. Did you like checking out my profile
in late September after we weren’t friends [ update]two days ago tonight?? I hope you remembered how I felt around you, how I tasted when you dipped your mouth to mine and how I’d weep with pleasure as you slammed your hips against my soft, white thighs.
Her name sounds a lot like mine. Do you think of me whenever you say it? Every time you see her smile do you think of me smiling at you while you broke my heart?
The saddest part of all of this is that you were a step up from my husband; I feel irreparably damaged by my own history and choices. I knew — I knew — this was wrong form the very start. Now I have to stop the bleeding, I have to halt the self recriminations. I did what I thought was right, right?? Or maybe I’m just so stupid I deserved your fucked up, stunted self.
You have every right to move on and love and all the flowers-out-your-ass bullshit, but I don’t think you deserve any of it. Not one fucking ounce. You were cruel to me, TN. Motherfucking cruel. And selfish to the core. You loved me and you needed me, but more than anything else, you need to not be a bad guy so you lied and hid and kept the things I needed to leave you to yourself. Then and even now.
At least you unfriended me on Facebook despite me leaving it over a year ago. One decent thing out of hundreds of shady, selfish ones.
When you got angry at me for ending our friendship you looked at me, tears streaming down your face, eyes red and raw and I thought, “What the fuck does he want from me?!” That was your opportunity to say, Hy, you’re right. I’m moving on and so should you. Instead you did everything in your power to stop me and to make it as painful as humanly possible, but I prevailed and I left you. Finally.
But still: fuck you, fuck her, fuck everything and everyone.
Fuck this fucking shit.
And again: fuck you.
[Ed. Note: It’s occurred to me since writing this that he couldn’t have unfriended me if I was deactivated.]