Eight years and a million lies later, we were over.
No one saw it coming. That’s for sure. But after seeing your fiancé practically shoving his tongue down another woman’s throat while his hand was discovering the softness of her underwear, he deserved the black eye he is now sporting. My best friend, who was with me at the time spilled her drink all over him, then applauded my right hook. And to make the situation more cliché as it is, I caught him the night before our wedding on his bachelor party. I guess couples didn’t see each other before the wedding for a reason. Lesson learned I guess.
I’ve shut my hotel door and locked it, only open to the bell boy who delivered my food and never questioned my red eyes. My phone has been ringing nonstop, my mother the prime caller.
“It was just wedding jitters honey!” She would say. “I’m sure you could just kiss and make up!”
My best friend however had other ideas, plotting a murder and a funeral. Murder for the woman, funeral for my ex: dead or alive. We both snickered as she prank called my ex and imitated the voice of the guy from Saw. His girly scream was bloody hilarious.
I spent all morning deleting every picture of us in every social website, while drinking my worries away with milkshake. I opened his Facebook, evilly changing his password. I then proceeded to throw away his clothes outside the window of what was supposed to be our honeymoon suite. I soon fell asleep to Bruno Mars serenading me, feeling at peace after what felt like the worst day of my life.
Loud desperate knocks practically pushed me out of the bed, making me yelp in surprise. I took my trusty hair curler and pointed it at the door as I looked through the peep hole. I expected a knife or a chainsaw to thrust through the door, a result of my obsession with horror movies. What I didn’t expect was my ex, flowers and chocolates in hand. He nervously ran his hand through his hair before knocking again. I pretended to be asleep, not making another sound.
“I know you’re awake. You’re not exactly a heavy sleeper Andy. And please put the hair curler down before you open the door?” he said, and I imagined a smirk tugging at the side of his lips.
I cursed under my breath, hating the fact that this guy knew me better than anyone else. With shaking hands I opened the door, ready to count how many apologies he’s about to make.
“I’m sorry about last night, I was so drunk I didn’t even know what I was doing and I’m sorry I didn’t run after you after you punched me, your friend poured margarita all over me and it made me sticky and I’m sorry for-“
The slap resounded through the empty hallway, making him shut up. Three apologies in one ridiculous sentence were too much. I took a deep breath, before looking straight at his stupefied face. He still had the black eye I gave him, but it looked like it was covered with a concealed. His skin looked pale, his lips dry. But he was still frustratingly handsome, with his squared jaw and hazel eyes. My resolve almost melted at the sight of him so vulnerable. Almost.
Snapping out of my thoughts, I looked at him straight in the eye, before opening my mouth.
“One, stop talking fast. Two, as an English major you insulted me with that apology. Pauses were made for a reason and conjunctions should not be overused. Three, you weren’t even that drunk, because if you were you would have passed out already. We both know after two shots you’d be ready to lie down anywhere, even if it was on the street. Four, pick up your clothes on the floor or I’d have my best friend burn it. And lastly, I don’t want to see you again.”
And with that ladies and gentlemen, I closed my door, or maybe slammed it on his face. The groan from the other side of the door told me the latter happened.
I smiled at myself while looking at the peephole, watching him pick up his clothes. Soon enough he left; grumbling unintelligible things under his breath. I felt relieved, then doubtful, then finally depressed. All under 10 seconds. I was relieved he left; at least I was strong enough not to melt onto his arms. I felt doubtful, as I looked back on our relationship. How many times did he cheat before he got caught? It hit me like a ton of bricks, the lies, the deceit and the fact that I lost not only my boyfriend, but also a best friend.
This made me sad the most, the fact that I lost someone who knew me at my worst and best times. I sobbed like a maniac, as flashes of memories crept on me like a ninja cutting onions. I wouldn’t doubt it if my neighbours began to complain about a wailing hyena. And as if on cue, someone knocked on my door.
“Ms. Sanchez?” A muffled voice said from the other side.
I tried to ignore whoever it was, and it pierced my heart to be called by my last name. By this time I should be Mrs. Rodrigez, but no, I was still MISS Sanchez. I sighed, sobbing once more onto my pillow. When I calmed down I finally got to look around my room.
The once neat and organized room was now a mess, much like my life. I felt alone and terribly stupid. I felt sorry for myself. I felt like he took my heart then crumpled it to throw away. I thought about the things we had together, and all the wasted effort and time for a jerk. And though I’ve never had a drop of alcohol in my body, I felt wasted.
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Totally fiction. I’m feeling gloomy as the rainy season intensifies here in the Philippines. I hope you had a nice weekend!
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Totally fiction. I’m feeling gloomy as the rainy season intensifies here in the Philippines. I hope you had a nice weekend!