Ugh. Even joking about it turns my stomach. I keep seeing those bimbos coiled around his body, and the whole bacchanal scene makes me ill.No.I think firmly as I stab at my pint.Those bimbos will not steal my frozen joy!
I take another defiant bite before getting up to grab my laptop. Maybe some stupid romcom or a documentary about murderers will soothe my troubled soul. I’ve always found that garbage TV and ice cream pair together like fine wine and cheese.
It’s quite the startling difference, isn’t it? To actually go from the fine wine and cheese – life to Netflix and chill-by-yourself-with-heartburn.At least I’m independent.I snort to myself.
Back in my chair, I flip open my laptop to scroll through some mindless social media. Hopefully, someone’s got a new dog or a baby or something adorable to melt my brain for a moment while I think of what I want to watch.
I made sure to get my own streaming account long ago. I didn’t want to be one of those people who still rely on their ex foranything, especially an ex like Blake. I prepped for months, figuring out how our lives were tied together, before slowly unraveling them bit by bit.
To think he tried to waltz back in here when I’m down and try to ‘win’ me is infuriating and downright sadistic. Isn’t that what famous tyrants do? Sell their snake oil when you’re down and out?
Well, not this time, Blake, you fucking prick! This time, I’ll bounce back on my own. Without him or… Roger. My ice cream is difficult to swallow for a moment. Maybe I should have read his message?
No! It’s time for independence. Mindless scrolling! Get with the program, Natalie.I log on for my puppy posts, but there, waiting for me, are pictures of my first lunch with Roger in that fancy-ass restaurant.
Right next to pictures of him drunk on the town.Goddamnit, the bimbos are following me!I slam my ice cream on the table and keep scrolling. It’s like a car crash I can’t look away from.
Just underneath are more photos. My hand flies to my face in shock. We’re naked. Again. They’re photos from the last time Roger and I were in my old apartment, my hands tied up and all.
“Fuck!” I shriek and stand up from my laptop like it’s cursed. Maybe it is.How does this keep happening?!
I try to think back on our time together that night, painful though it may be. I swear I made a point to close the blinds, we both did! Fuck! Did I miss something? Otherwise...how?
Oh God, this is all my fault, again! Roger will be fine, of course.If anything, it’ll only help my image. I can hear his words in my head loud and clear. But what about me?
“What will Tabitha think?” I wail as I plop back on my kitchen chair. I hate wallowing, I really do. But, at this point, I’m ready to throw in the towel. I grab my ice cream, spoon, and a blanket and retreat to my bedroom to hibernate in my continued humiliation.