So when he had come over three days ago and gave me the lame “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, I was left in recoil. I mean, who the fuck still gives that line of crap?
Yeah, I lost it. I’m ashamed to admit that when he had told me that he felt our relationship wasn’t going anywhere and that he wanted something a bit more than what we had together, my vision went a little blurry and all I saw was red.
Some not very nice words were hurtled in his general direction. I kind of threw a lamp at his head, which he dodged, by the way.
And then I cried. Oh hell had I cried. We’re talking snot all over yourself cried. And you know what my fuck nugget of an ex did? He patted my back and said, “There, there. It’ll be fine.”
I will repeat…WHAT. THE. FUCK?
I spent a good thirty minutes ugly crying all over his shirt and then he got up, said he had to go and left. I had been able to pull together what small semblance of pride I had left and didn’t run after him and beg him to stay. So that was something.
So, yeah, I’ve been in mourning. Not just for a year of my life wasted. But also the death of my dignity. Because it was currently taking a long vacation with my self-respect. And I’m pretty sure my confidence and backbone had stashed away in their luggage.
I hadn’t been back to work since the break-up. I had called in sick yesterday and I knew Moore, the general manager, would expect a doctor’s note tattooed to my forehead if I tried to flake on my shift tonight. And of course, he who shall not be named would be working. Because we had purposefully coordinated our work schedules so that our shifts fell on the same night.
I really wish I could smash my former blissful ignorance in the face.
I was lacing up my black sneakers when Maysie came into my bedroom again. Girl really couldn’t take a hint that I didn’t feel like talking.
“You want me to do your hair or something? Nothing gets back an ex like looking fabulous,” she suggested, holding up her hairbrush. I rubbed my temples, feeling the throb of a headache coming on.
“I’ll pass, thanks. I could walk into Barton’s with my tits hanging out and I don’t think it would make much of a difference,” I said blandly. Maysie tugged on my ponytail affectionately.
“His loss, Riley. Seriously. Am I gonna have to go tough love on your ass and smack the shit out of you like you so lovingly did for me?” she threatened, holding her hand up. I grabbed her by the wrist and tugged it down.
“You don’t have the balls, my friend,” I said, my lips quirking into the shadow of a smile.
Maysie laughed. “You’re right, you scare me. I wouldn’t even try it,” she said shuddering and then looped her arm through mine and tugged me to the door.
I grabbed my bag and car keys and Maysie followed me out to the car. Our neighbors Raymond and his girlfriend, Cicely, were hanging out on their stoop, smoking something that looked nothing like a cigarette. Raymond was half passed out and Cicely was winding beads into her hair.
I couldn’t even summon up the energy to mock them. What had my life come to when I didn’t have it in me to make fun of the losers next door? I was seriously losing my touch.
Damn Damien! Damn him to hell!
Maysie waved at them and looked at me expectantly. “Nothing? No witty barb? I’m disappointed,” she teased, though I could see the worry pinching her face.
I shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t be making fun of anyone right now. It’s not like I have a whole lot going for me apparently,” I said dramatically with a sigh. Maysie cocked her eyebrow and I knew I was taking the depressed dumpee a step too far. And when Maysie started to laugh I had to as well. I was being ridiculous. My maudlin act was bordering on ludicrous.