For part 1 click here.
I followed him for 15 – 20 minutes and as I did I realized two things. One, this was a familiar route. I’d walked down this path, many times with him…many years ago which meant he was still staying in his dinky excuse of an apartment.
Back when we were kids it wasn’t so bad, but now…I smirked to myself. At least I’d moved up in life, even if he hadn’t.
The second thing I realized was that since I knew he still stayed at the same place, there was no need for me to follow him…I needed to go home and think.
I stopped abruptly in my tracks and turned around. I walked all the way to my car and put the AC on full blast. This hot head needed to cool down first.
After a few minutes, I allowed my mind to wander back to him. I winced. Again, that stupid pain in my chest. I swear, I could give my self a heart attack just by thinking about shit like this.
I still hated him. Oh how I hated him.
But what did I want to do about it? What could I do about it?
There were a lot of erratic thoughts running through my head. Some of them involved taking a cricket bat and breaking into his home and wrecking everything to breaking a few of his bones.
Physical violence. I took a deep breath. That was a new low. To despise someone to the point where you wanted to see them bleed. And not literally.
I dismissed that thought from my head. I wasn’t going to do something like that, even though I really, really wanted to.
An old memory flashed through my mind, the sight of him on top of his colleague from work, in that very apartment… one day after we had celebrated our first year anniversary. Surprise!
I’d flown into rage then, but he hadn’t faced it…no. I had a mini meltdown in a shady alley behind his house and then I’d walked home in a daze – never to hear from him again.
A part of me wondered…why didn’t I ever go back to his house? Why didn’t I accost him? Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I slap the shit out of that whore?
I guess I was in shock. Believe me, I was. I’d spent like a week crying in bed and then I switched off….and started working my ass off so that I didn’t have time to think about him. Your cliched heart – broken girl. What a joke. He never tried to contact me. And I never asked why.
What could I do? What should I do?
I knew what I would do. I knew what I needed. I slowly turned my car around, in the direction of his house. He wasn’t going to like this one bit.
To be continued….