you were excited for me to meet her. couldn't wait for us all the hang out. you wanted her to like me. and she did.
a little too much.
the first time i met her. the look in her eye. it was almost like you weren't in the room. that look, i know that look. the same one you gave me when you bit your bottom lip, said hello with your eyes, and tossed your hair back & forth. she touched my arm in that flirty way. did that "cute little voice" when she said my name. i knew right then..your girl wanted me.
she smiled..and said, you told her all about me. i bet you hate you did that. the lust in her eyes, pierced through my clothes as she undressed me and made love to me with her thoughts. she had already stabbed you in your back 2 minutes before she even met me, but you had no idea. no idea those conversations you two had about me...your feelings, your wants you confessed to her fueled her betrayal. blinded by trust and innocent ignorance you turned your back on your biggest hater. and she had her knife ready.
she's not your friend, she never was. she's never been happy for you. always tried to break you. she fed on your insecurities. then you went and gave her the blueprint to our relationship and she planned to destroy it. destroy you. see girls, like that can't stand you. they can't stand for you to be happy. to have anything they don't. and right now what she don't have is me.
i can tell you want to blame me. i can see it on your face. you want it to be me. you want to protect this friendship you've built up in your mind. and want me to be the bad guy. you want it to be my fault: maybe i came on to her, maybe you saw me checking her out, maybe i'm just a dog, a hoe, a friend-fucker. maybe it's me. it's true..you've known her longer. it's true..she's an attractive woman. it's true..she she can get her own dude. but none of that matters.
see it's not even about me. she's doing this to hurt you. she thrives off your tears, fears, and vulnerabilities. it didn't start with me, and probably won't stop with me. check her friend closet. there's probably shoes, underwear, socks, and pants of "your" boyfriend past spread all over the floor. i'm just the first to tell you.
don't be mad at me, be mad at your girl. . .
[october challenge: day#13]