“Take me home.”

 

In a maneuver to protest you reach to make contact with my clasped hand, but the goosebumps appearing on my arms cue that I should forbid it. Retracting myself from your seething action and reinforcing my tone, “Take me home. Now.” The reflection of light from the illuminated parking lot of the coffee shop allow me to see you clearer. The coffee shop we just spent hours playing Sorry, Not Sorry. A dry feeling invades my mouth negating the once delicate honey citrus mint tea.

 

A ways past the coffee shop I part my lips as I attempt to make sense of the nude photos I saw. The same lips we had clapped together whilst our tongues played a competitive game of tag. Time came to a standstill when the knowledge that this – us – is going to come to an end. No… not yet. My lips purse together, sucking at my teeth while passing the unlit streetlamps as you barely drive the speed limit. I brace myself by regulating my breathing to draw an unsuspecting face.

 

How will I continue to stay with you? I can’t. After this stabbing pain ceases I’ll want to, but for my sake I shouldn’t. If I have any respect for myself unlike you, I-I can’t.

 

In the car I feel the uneasiness of a plague illuminating off of me and your concern battling it.

 

“I… I accidentally saw the photos.”

​

Glaring at you, your thin face sinks while meeting my sharp eyes repeatedly as you lower your gaze like a shamed dog. Silence. I feel the Hyundai come to a slow stop before it goes idle by a poorly lit curbside. Here I sit in my sweatpants and my tee, with my hair in a ponytail while those women sit in your phone with their makeup and hair well done to accentuate their bodies. As you rummage to find the right words your lack of them becomes interrupted by the stream of tears staining my sweatpants. My lip trembles as the image of us becomes blurred.

​

“It’s not what you think,” you reassure, as if I hadn’t been bombarded by boobs and ass in multiple photos.

​

“What is it then?” I ask hoping you’ll be honest, but all I need is a confirmation of why anyone would have obscene and pornographic photos of women.

 

To my surprise the next words coming out of your mouth are, “I never cheated on you.” Processing this the heavy tears plopped down slowly. The AC in the car becomes so prominent I prefer the humming over whatever nonsense originated from your unfaithful tongue. Rather than accepting responsibility for the indecency on your phone you continue to believe it is okay to have that saved in order to protect yourself from my judgmental being. I consider it cheating, you-You know this. The fact that we had an intimate and sexual relationship I expect myself to be enough. Don’t I deserve respect? Or to feel attractive and desirable? I have been sent dick pics before but never once was I aroused nor did I have the indecency to save them.

 

“Why?” I search in you. “Why?”

 

I brace myself only to be stunned by the answer, your words dagger then scrape the insides of my heart, “Sometimes I just get horny. I don’t know why, it’s something wrong with me.”

You deserve absolutely no pity from me, no understanding. Nothing.

 

To even stare into your soul I will be unable because the person sitting across from me I do not recognize, those eyes are plainly unfamiliar. Someone I looked at with such admiration and recognition, I see nothing but a stranger. I had known you for years, we had been best friends prior to dating so I thought I saw all aspects of you. No more than a few days prior we had sex, not even a day ago I had you in my mouth allowing you to ejaculate. The thought of our sexual relationship winded me, while we fucked you could have been thinking of them; women that looked absolutely nothing like me.

 

“Why? For how long? How often did you jerk off to them? When we had sex did you think about them? Were you going to tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? What did you like about them? What about their bodies did you like? Do you find me attractive? Did you masturbate to them on our anniversary? How many pictures? What about me is so unattractive? Am I enough for you? Why didn’t you tell me, why- why did I have to find out? And-and I don't think just cause you were horny, I don't think that’s a good reason at all. And I know you don’t consider it cheating. I know you just consider it pictures, but I consider it cheating.”

 

Your heavy hand covers your shamed eyes, even your tears work in your favor by blurring your vision from the truth you need to face. Though I absolutely hate you right now your drawn brows and your sunken face make me want to make whatever this is okay. No. As your teeth release your cheek your dull lips part to allow a sob to escape. I continue more calmly.

​

“That is extremely disrespectful to me. I feel like our relationship didn’t matter. Didn't… matter to you at all.” The space in the Hyundai becomes narrow as the dim lights make me only more trapped before opening the car door to be struck by the crisp air that tries reconciling my tears on my bleak walk home.

 

Your reasoning, for having sexual photos of other women on your phone, sent to me via text: “I never asked you for photos because I did not want to disrespect you.”

 

Fuck You.