He was the last person I expected to run into last night. I wasn’t at all prepared to see him again after he’d casually dumped me over a fucking text message.
its over, Kia. im c’ing sum1 else.
That was it.
No further explanation. No follow up conversation. Nada.
After almost two years together, that was all the asshat said to me when he suddenly decided to end things between us.
Real fucking classy.
And to make matters worse, my ex was there having an extra good time with some random barbie-lookalike-bitch. I mean, really? For fuck’s sake, we’ve only been broken up for three weeks and two days!
Not that I’m counting or anything.
Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d actually had the nerve to come up to me and pretend that everything was all super peachy and dandy. He even bought my brother shots, and Stan, in his extra-tipsy birthday state, just happily accepted them as if they were still cool.
Okay, I think they might actually still be somewhat amicable behind my back, but dammit, I can’t have my brother fraternizing with my enemies, especially the one that hurt me the most, I don’t care what the occasion is.
That right there was the beginning of my demise. That’s when I started mindlessly chugging back the Kamikazes and Jager Bombs like they were spring water, and I think I went a little bit ham on the Tequila, too. I just kept dumping several ounces of hard liquor down my throat, back to back to back.
It was a stupid thing to do. I know. In hindsight, I really should have just kept my cool, but I was so infuriated I couldn’t help myself.
With the way he and his new whore had been acting all lovey-dovey and kissy-kissy in front of me, I knew without a doubt that I was going to cause a scene if I’d stayed completely sober.
Honestly, I’d only meant to get a little tipsy, but I quickly ended up going overboard before I even realized it.
Ugh. Why the fuck did he have to be there?
I can’t even believe I’d let myself fall in love with someone who obviously cared so little for me.
Looking back on things, I probably should have seen all the signs and red flags a mile away, but I was too caught up in my feelings of being wanted and desired that I didn’t—or maybe even refused to—see Lenny for the gigantic asshole that he so clearly is.
Just then, I realize that I’m being carried, hauled over someone’s shoulder like a bag of cement. I know it can’t be Stan, ’cause I the last time I saw him, he was on the dancefloor doing a headstand—that somehow ended up being more of a face-on-the-floor-stand. So yeah, it’s definitely not him.
Jeez, I really hope he got home safe.
I catch the scent of warm pumpkin spice, and I immediately know I’m in my apartment.
Someone brought me home. But who?
In any case, at least I know I’m safe. That also means I know whoever is carrying me.
I try to speak, but everything I say leaves my mouth in incoherent groans of gibberish.
I feel my body hit the soft cushioning of my bed, and I look up at the silhouette of the face above me, trying to figure out who it is that so graciously brought me back to my apartment, but I can only manage to keep my eyes open for a few seconds before they shut down on me completely and I’m out like busted light bulb.
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