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It's so charming how bittersweet love can be. At times, it can feel like the universe is on your side, like all is right. But at times like this, you feel nothing but bitterness—maybe even a bit numb inside.
That's all I feel as I stand here watching them. Waiting for them to notice me. Notice the tears rolling down my cheeks, ruining my mascara. Ah yes. My makeup. I had dressed up so pretty for her; I was her perfect little doll in her words. I guess I wasn't the only one she fooled. Or maybe the other girl knows. Maybe they talk behind my back about how weird I am or how I think that she's in love with me when, in reality, I'm just the shitty side piece.
What a load of utter bullshit!
I gave her everything. I gave up my life for her, and for what? A shitty girlfriend who doesn't know how to fuck someone nice. All talk and no game—that's what she is. She probably has to pay the poor girl for sex. How sad. At this rate, she'll get an STD from all the whores she'll have to fuck to stave off her desperation.
I wonder what she'll think when I break up with her. How could you do this to me? Or maybe something like, Well, thank God no one can starve me of my sexual needs anymore. She probably can't even comprehend a possibility like that. She probably thinks I'm wrapped around her pretty finger in a nice pink silk bow.
Well, she can go kiss her good life goodbye.
She wasted my time, so now I get to ruin her perfect little life. I'll make sure she never plays with someone again. I'll drain her blood and store it in fancy wine bottles to gift to her hook-ups. Refrigerate her body so that later I'll be able to cut her up piece by piece until you can put her in a gourmet meal with no one noticing. I'll feed her to her snobby parents and call it a family recipe. One that I'll continue to perfect for them until all that is left are her weak, fragile bones. Then I'll bury them so far in the ground that even a police dog won't pick up the scent.
Oh, how pretty her funeral would be. I'd make sure to put on the best show of faking my sadness until I get home to celebrate with a gigantic wedding cake. Well, they always say weddings are like funerals with cake. So I might as well turn her funeral into a celebration right?
And now, as I look across at her and her little mistress, I feel nothing but a sick sense of freedom. The thought of her death brings me joy. Oh, how I can't help but laugh and smile.