TIME TO PICK UP THE PIECES
**trigger warning: this story contains scenes of suicide, explicit language**
PEYTON, TIME TO PICK UP THE PIECES
Sometimes we make decisions in the heat of the moment without thinking about it – our bodies react with emotion, not logic. I now understand the defense ‘it was a crime of passion’ – I’m not saying that excuses anything, but I fucking get it. Boy do I ever.
So when I came home to find my live-in boyfriend of three years Brent driving his cock into my now former best friend Eliza, my first thought was to fucking beat them both to death with a frying pan. It was the only ‘weapon’ I had nearby– so I did the next best thing.
I pulled out my phone and took their fucking picture.
“Smile you cheating assholes!” As the flash goes off, the look of horror on their faces is fucking priceless. Hashtag ‘you know it is time to kick his ass out when’. And in about a second and a half both of their phones go off with new alerts as the photo is sent out to every single person on my contact list – including family. Every. Single. Person.
Her three older brothers.
Stick your dick into that you cheating piece of shit. I shout at him I’ll be back in one hour, and he’d better be gone along with his whore and his stuff. I then slam the door behind me as I leave. On shaking legs I stumble to my Jeep and get behind the wheel. I find a spot about a block down the street so I can watch my building, and it only takes about twenty minutes for Brent and Eliza to leave. They get into a cab together, each carrying a suitcase. Fuck. That hurt more than seeing them fucking.
Little did I know that was just the beginning of the nightmare.
At work things were mostly okay. As a bartender people really don’t give a shit about my life as long as I keep the drinks coming but that can’t be said for everyone. Turns out some women felt I betrayed some sort of sisterhood by exposing Eliza like that and turned on me. My Jeep was keyed numerous times, and my tires were slashed twice. When men are pissed about something, they will fight it out and be done with it. Women can be real assholes when they want to be. And when it came to me, apparently, they wanted to be.
My best friend and boyfriend cheat on me and I’m the bad guy?
I’m all for female empowerment but fuck this bullshit. She is just as guilty as he is – in this instance anyways. He didn’t force her and as it turns out, it had been going on for months. Why would I treat her differently because she’s a woman when she’s just as guilty as he is? When I find out, months later, that she was being propositioned and harassed because guys were assuming she was easy – I understood better why. Then I felt guilty which made me angrier! Fuck!
Everyone ‘disapproved’ of how I handled the situation. I ‘wasn’t very adult’ about it. Really fucking easy to say when it isn’t you standing in the doorway watching your boyfriend suck someone else’s tit. Give that a try than come back to me, until than shut the hell up. So I went from having everything; a boyfriend, a best friend, family and friends to nothing. Fucking nothing. My boyfriend and best friend are now living together, our circle of mutual friends is torn but leaning towards them because ‘two against one’ and even my own Mom is fucking ‘disappointed’ in me. Thanks for the support – last time I checked I was the innocent bystander in this entire fucking situation.
A week ago I reached my limit when the windows of my Jeep were smashed out. Enough. If this is how I’m treated for standing up for myself, even if you don’t agree with how I did it then fuck everyone here. The only person I tell is my boss at the bar so he can get a replacement – I don’t even tell my Mom. Why bother? The last time we spoke all she did was tell me the latest on Brent and Eliza. Seriously. Like I want to hear anything about them. She doesn’t understand that none of this is my fault, she thinks I should have done ‘something’ more to keep him attracted – like lose weight.
Always about my fucking weight. Since I was a teenager, she has had me on one diet or another – I’m never going to be a size zero and I’m okay with that. Eliza used to say how jealous she was of my boobs – they’re big. All of my curves and assets are, despite my short height. I’m short, round and have a bad attitude to boot- I’ll never keep a man. Jesus, thanks Mom. With men like Brent the cheater – I don’t want one.
I give him two years before he’s cheating on Eliza – any takers?
I’ve always heard once a cheater, always a cheater. Guess we’ll see. Part of me hopes I’m wrong and they live a long and wonderful life together – a ridiculously small part. The rest of me looks forward to hearing the news of their breakup. I say two years to be generous. I know I’m being a bitch, but I’m done worrying about people’s feelings. The last time anyone worried about mine was… yeah… so not worried if I hurt your one fucking sensibility.
It took up a good chunk of my savings to fix my windows, but I had to, so it was roadworthy again. I have a small trailer attached to the back of my Jeep, carrying the entirety of my worldly possessions. Sounds so glamourous. Clothes, dishes, TV and my bed are the gist - I’ll be sitting on the floor for awhile. With stops for rest in the backseat to save money, I have been on the road for three days. I have a small apartment already rented and waiting for me, and bartending jobs are easy to find. As I approach the city limits, a shiver of excitement goes up my back. My new home on the other side of the country.