March

You broke up with me on March. You saw something on my phone about a stupid joke that I said that I shouldn’t have. I was stupid, told you. While we were waiting for the bookbind we sat together at a 7-11. You were checking the girl out on the table next to us and making comments about how pretty she was. It was torture.

When we got to your home you said we were just bestfriends. No more, no less. You said you were tired of all the same things and problems happening over and over again. You said you didn’t like the thought of being played. So as we lay in your bed you told me we were just bestfriends but you still loved me. I just wasn’t the one you’re going to end up with anymore. So you broke up with me. I stood up and got the box where you put all of our little trinkets and memories and looked through them one by one. We were both crying. It hurt to see you cry but now I was glad you cried because I knew you loved me and it hurt you to break up with me. I put down the box and moved closer to you and placed my head on your chest. We stayed like that for a while.

I said, “If you ever get in a fight with your wife, call me. We can run away together and live on an island.” You said, “No, I’ll be at her door and beg her to forgive me. I’ll make things right. Then I’ll take care of our son.”

That hurt like shit. So I stood up and looked for two of our friends and asked them to go to the attic with me. I invited them to a rooftop session. We all know rooftop session was a code for smoking.

I told them and cried. I lit up a cigarette and told them I could do smoke rings then I showed them that I could. They were impressed but my heart was ripped open. When I was on my second you went up to look for me and I saw the pain in your eyes when you saw me with a cigarette in my hand. You stared at me and I told you not to. Then I told you to call his friends back because they left when you came up. So they did and a while later you came up again and said,”You can go home now, bitches aren’t allowed in the house.” So I told you I was just going to finish the cigarette. You went down again and when you came back up you walked towards me and grabbed the cigarette and threw it out the window. Then you grabbed my arm and led me to the stairs.

I saw all the things and memories at the foot of the stairs. You stood there and looked me in the eyes and said, “I hate you.”

Then you dragged me to your room and started punching the wall. You said this was why you couldn’t trust me. Because I promised I wouldn’t smoke again. Because it was for the health of our future kids. I told you about how said you would have your kids with another girl now. Then you said you were still hoping it was me. You kept hitting the wall and I told you to hit me. You grabbed me into a hug and said you couldn’t. You dragged us to the bed and you straddled me and punched the wall to your right. You kept saying that you thought it was me and that I promised I wouldn’t smoke again. I told you to hit me. Just once. I wanted to feel something. Yes yes i know that was a line from a tv series. Don’t judge me. I told you how I needed the cigarette because when I was depressed I tend to smoke a lot. You’ll see how this is true in a few chapters. I said it was either I smoked or jumped off the roof. Because back then I wanted to die. You broke up with me. Then I yelled at you to hit me and you did. It shocked me. You slapped me hard across the face. Then you broke down and started apologizing profusely. You said I deserved to be with someone who wouldn’t hurt me.

But good news, we got together after that. You said you couldn’t bear losing me again. Ever. And I believed you. Damn, I’m stupid.