She’s been here.
My flight landed at 3pm. As I walked into the house we shared (when I was in town of course)—- something just felt wrong. “We’re going shopping. I want a new bed set and some boxers and shit…” A new bed set? He has two homes, yet today, when I come home, he wants to redecorate. Didn’t I just buy you boxers?
My eyes scanned the room for anything out of place. My tampons were still under the television in his room. My fleece flipflops under the bed. I’d been here two weeks ago and was meticulous about how I placed my things. My Lady Speed Stick was on the nightstand. Well, if the bitch was here, she knows I was too.
“Who’s pink scrunchie?” I asked cooly.
“I picked up my lil sister ye–”
LIE. He picked her up and what? Brought her to the crib… this crib? Hell no, he didn’t. It was comedy at this point really. The lies, the games. He was meticulous too. And he’d better had been. Too bad the motherfucker couldn’t have replaced the sheets before I got here though—
He was anxious. Too anxious. I was lost in my own thoughts. I didn’t even hear him telling me how much he’d missed me. You know, cute shit boyfriends say to make you mellow out. We shopped– he shopped. I guess he was intent on making sure I didn’t see any aftermath on his black sheets. Ha, I’d already looked while he pissed. He was though, pissing me off. He, too, was keeping secrets of his own.
“Nothing. I just want you to know, if and when I catch you, I’m torching your bed with you and that bitch in it. I’ll put you on prime time at 6 o’clock…”
“Man, I’m not about to—”
“Just so you know.”
I had no time for the bullshit. He’s full of it. I just hope he knew… Setting his ass on fire, is exactly what I’d do. No reservations. No hesitations. Fuck Love.
Mr. Fucking Popularity, I’ll make you a star.