The last thing I’d expected was to find you at that party last night, much less speak to you. A great handful of my friends, with whom I went (as you know), all made quite clear to me that you WOULD NOT be there.
Knowing you, I would like to take this time to say — before you get smug — that I feared not any sort of rekindling of feelings I felt for you. Every reason I had for avoiding you long as I did was exactly proven last night.
I’ve been well over you, have been since the day I broke it off. Contrary to the vile, repellent, wildly insecure, soul-sucking demon whore of a woman you’ve painted me to be since the day I ended things — which cost me a dear friendship with your sister Ana, a friendship which had long predated our short-lived relationship (not that you’d give a shit, in fact I bet it satisfied you to no end to watch her drunkenly curse me out days later) — my mission was never from the beginning to hurt you. I don’t need to pull that type of shit for attention, or to make me feel “desirable”, and frankly I now understand what your other exes must’ve gone through. Back when I believed the similar bullshit you spewed about them.
The truth of the matter is that I broke up with you because I realized I never truly had feelings for you. There was no zeal, no connection, no true excitement to the relationship (and yes, not even much during sex. Contrary to what you’ve deluded yourself into thinking, Mark, you’re no sex god), and soon as I realized we were going nowhere I tried to do the right thing. Let you go.
And my thanks? Slander and public ignominy.
Would you have wanted me to just stay with you until the toxicity of our joke of a “relationship” wears us both to the bone, and drains us of any happiness we might’ve had in the arms of people better for us respectively? Face it. We were headed toward a dead end, and couldn’t steer elsewhere. Did you really, truly, earnestly want me to just let us crash right into it? You argue I was too cold, too distant, that I never gave you a chance; and that’s bullshit. Much as I know I do tend to subconsciously push others away, with you I certainly wasn’t like that — you were what I thought I wanted, in the beginning. I would’ve gone to the ends of the earth to make you happy. When your dad died and you came home to me in tears, I awaited you with open arms, and for hours I could’ve (and arguably should’ve, because remember, I was working two full-time jobs at the time) spent enjoying a well-earned rest I listened to you. Listened to your memories about the man, made you tea as you sobbed. I was just as there for Ana, too. You crashed at mine for what must’ve been two and a half weeks, because you didn’t want to be alone. And I was there, eager to please.
So how fucking dare you go around now — now that we’re over and have been for months — and allow claims to escape your lips that I was callous and uncaring towards you?! Alex told me you’re even telling people that I mocked you (or have been mocking you) for being emotional during your whole grief ordeal. That’s miles too low a blow for me and you know it, though admittedly it would be the easiest thing in the world to scorn you for now. Guess that’s why you said I did it — easiest and most effective way to paint me as a royal cunt. You couldn’t stand to let my once-reasonable image remain after breaking it off with the King Mark himself.
And then there’s last night.
The petty attempts to appear satisfied and well…I absolutely expected, especially once you’d seen I was here. Mind you, you were dressed like an absolute mess, and in case somebody hasn’t pointed it out to you yet, the slicked back hairdo just makes you look stupid. You looked goofy and pretentious and I think you know it, Mark. Might as well have been wearing Jasper’s brightly-colored shades indoors while you were at it.
But then you go out of your way to approach me. Startling the living fuck out of me, first off, but also bringing the onslaught of stifling awkwardness directly upon both of us.
So cute, really, how your first order of business was to try and make amends — by having ME apologize. Apologize for what exactly, Mark? Dumping you? I’ll never apologize for that…that was the best thing I’d ever done for not only myself, but you as well. You’re a narcissistic cretin and I despise you as a person, but even the slimy likes of yourself deserve someone who actually reciprocates your feelings.
I think once you realized this was no good and there was no way I’d be going back on ANY of the things I said that morning I left you, back in March, that you decided behaving like a child was your only mechanism left. Deriding me for being at the party when — hello — YOU were there as well, and far as I know you barely even knew the host. Word of advice, don’t be stupid enough to claim I’m here simply to take some guy home when that’s literally what YOU’RE doing. Fi is my friend, and has been for over a year now. She invited me personally. And let me tell you, I know for a fact she’s never been friends with you. Daring to call me a prostitute and a sociopath, because name-calling is once again your only resort. I wish I could’ve recorded some of the utterly foul shit that came from your mouth that night, sent the receipts to Ana.
And I will try to work things out with Ana, if luck allows me.
But I’ll be damned, even if we live for eons at a time, if I ever voluntarily so much as speak to you again.
Fuck you, Mark. And goodbye.