Treachery!

I’m not going to beat around the bush. This time I’m fucking livid as hell! I imagine myself as some sort of spectral phantasmagoria with a jackolantern for a head and blood streaming from my angry eyes. I’m rising from the grave to exact my revenge on them both. I used to love him, and I guess that’s why this stings in an especially painful and irritating way. I’m almost sick of myself for opening up to him and sharing anything personal at all with him. He’s stuck me in the back, the knife is sinking in. He’s nothing to me now but a little piece of shit, and here’s why:

Once upon a time I was told of a girl, a girl who had opinions, a girl who was pretty, and a girl who liked to brew alcoholic things. Yes, I was very, very interested. Now as a poet and a sufferant of ADHD, I would say I’m especially given into whirlwind crushes that knock me off my own feet before my crush even gets to know me. Such was the case with this particular crush, and it grew even worse when I met her for the first time and we went firefly hunting together. She joined me barefooted in the bog, even after I foolishly exclaimed I would marry anyone who would chase insects barefooted through the mud with me. Yeah, I know, I probably deserve whatever was coming, but I heartily disagree.

The semester soon started, and it was not long before this particular girl met my roommate, the one who lives just on the other side of my wall. ‘Twas almost love at first sight, minus the fact that they probably hooked up drunk and then proceeded to fool around the next night. The worst of it is, this is far from the first time something like this has happened between this roommate and myself. I have never told him in the past for the exact reason this caustic narritive so beautifully illustrates. Yup, this time I had told this roommate of my infatuation while it was happening. It has since died down somewhat, but that’s not to say that that part of my recent past has completely been erased. How do I know that? Well let me just tell you:

I first heard of this news from my other roommate’s mouth as he bellied up the morning after and asked, as one big game hunter might of another, “How was it last night? Is she any good?” Of course I knew of who they spoke, and thus, being a poet and and a human being, I steamed off and wrote a shape poem resembling a spider. Using sarcastic venom and witty bites, I lashed out angrily and poetically tore into all parties involved in this outrageous injustice. I was hoping to pull it off all Shakespeare style, delivering insult after insult that sailed clear over everyone’s heads, but after my backstabbing roommate came to a poetry slam for me, I was fooled into feeling the urge to admit my crimes to him and ask for his forgiveness. I shared with him the spider shape poem, explained how I felt he had disrespected me, and then I asked him for his forgiveness. WHAT THE HELL WAS I EVEN THINKING??? Nonetheless, I had now already explained to him that it kind of hurt me how insensitive he and my other roommate had been in discussing you know who right in front of me the way they had. He looked at me with his puppy-dog eyes and apologized back and I thought ‘twas all going to be okay. Boy was I fucking wrong! As I was soon to discover, he had invited her over the very next night. Treachery!

I left my room to grab something from downstairs at about the same time he emerged from his room. As I encountered him, he wore that tell tale smile of having been up to no good. Acting on my suspicion, I challenged him to an honest and good-spirited foosball game, you know, just for good measure. He agreed and I continued in my trek downstairs. As I did so, a knock came from the door. I had assumed it was my friend Vincent, seeing as he had mentioned coming over and studying organic chemistry earlier that day. I announced as much with vigorous confidence, so when I thrust open the door expecting to see my pal and instead seeing her and instead enduring the laughing of my roommates and instead feeling my heart sink like a lead brick, I steamed off in a hidden cloud of contempt and malice. In that very moment our foosball game shed its every ounce of innocence; I was going to destroy him just as he had destroyed my evening and my trust. I creamed him ten to two. Still consumed by lustful vengence, I marched off upstairs before I extracted my revenge on someone else.

As I finished my homework, I blared ominous symphonies and brooded. I occasionally heard their muffled voices, and such things merely prompted me to bury myself deeper into my studies. The time soon came for everyone to go to bed, and I was relieved because I took that to mean that she was going home. I might also be able escape the twisted knots of betrayal now torturing my guts in a dream. Oh dear Tristan, thou art so naive! Of course she didn’t go bloody home! She spent the fucking night! Again, how do I know? Because I’m still awake at 12:48 am, still wrestling with that livid pit in my stomach, and angrily scribing on my phone as their muffled voices keep me from my sleep and furthermore my peace and sanity.

I know, I know. I should just grow up and be happy that my roommate is finding happiness or whatever they call it now days. Kill me for not being happy for him, crucify me for being human, hell, hang me out to dry for being upset with him for so rudely disrespecting me AGAIN. It’s just that I’ve been stepping on socially awkward landmines recently as literally everyone in my apartment but me has been getting laid. I know there’s no true connection between love and sex, but my heart just doesn’t get it and it’s making me miserable as hell. Most importantly, I thought he got it, I really had hoped. His apology sounded sincere. I’m not one to bear bad grudges, nor am I one to withhold forgiveness, but this time I feel pretty fucking inclined. And that’s why I’m writing this and sharing now with all y’all exactly what’s on my mind.