I’ve been sitting here listening to you for the best part of an hour. You’ve been talking non-stop since I stopped talking; not that what I did was actually talk. Fine, my methods are annoying, I get it. I get mean, I get ironic, I smirk and it seems like I’m patronizing you. I am patronizing you. I piss you off, but know what? At this point I don’t really care if you’re pissed. Because I’m more pissed than you. And yes, it’s a contest. One I never participate in, except when I know that I’m going to win. Because what you’ve gone and done is so assinine, so out of this world moronic and nerve shattering, that I have all the right to be enraged.

I’m listening, yes, but I can’t say that I’m quite paying attention. You do get that this is becoming boring, right? All I hear is “Bla, bla, I’m sorry, bla-bla-bla, It’s not my fault, bla, bla, forgive bla-bla-bla. Blaaa”. I’m seconds away from shushing you, making that gesture you so hate. You think that if you keep talking things will get better? You’re just making it worse, and along with my temper, I’m losing my patience.

So, do me a giagantic favor, will you? Shut the fuck up.

Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’m not interested in an apology. There’s a saying where I come from that loses a lot in translation but basically goes like this: “When the words ‘I’m sorry’ were discovered, all consideration disappeared.” You weren’t thinking about me before. Why now, all of a sudden, after the fact, and since you see that you’ve made me angry, do you feel sorry? Did you feel sorry then? Did you think of the consequences when doing it? No. So cut the crap now. It’s an insult to my intellegence and demeaning to you. You’ve already dropped a few steps in my eyes, why are you so adamant in trying to drive yourself into the ground and lose every bit of my respect?

Yes, my respect. I would much rather you be arrogant about it instead of pleading with me. I’d rather you were straightforward and blunt. “Yup, I wanted to and I did it. I knew it was stupid and I was aware of the reprecussions, but I did it anyway. I didn’t much think about it at the time and you were the last thing on my mind. It’s done with now. Can you get over it or do we have a problem?” 

Someone else might call a response like that selfish, egotistical and arrogant, but I’d rather hear that than your whimpering. So, be the Alpha male that you are and that I fell in love with, man up, grow a pair and give it to me straight. I need a man with bigger balls than me. That’s why I’m with you. At least that’s what I thought.

Be honest; it’s just the two of us, we aren’t in front of a judge and jury and you don’t have to prove your character to anyone. And babe, I already know you. You think I didn’t know who you were when I got involved with you? You think that I’m oblivious to the fact that you’re headstrong and spontaneous and you do things just for the hell of it, not considering what happens afterwards? You think that I didn’t realize that that was exactly what you did with me when we first met? The spontaneous declarations and gestures, the midnight drives through the city, the air and attitude of “the king of the world”. Or are you oblivious to the fact those were some of the characteristics I fell in love with from the beginning?

We’re both human. I never thought that I was with some kind of divine entity that is without flaws and that never makes mistakes. But don’t tell me you’re sorry. You’re not sorry you did it, you’re sorry you got caught. Say that. Don’t tell me that you regret it; there’s no point in regret. It’s the most worthless of all feelings. Because once something is done, it’s done. There’s no use in feeling bad about it after the fact.

I’m starting to get a migrane, and you still haven’t gotten what my point is. I don’t want an apology, I have no desire or use for it. I want you to fix it. I want you to make me forget that it ever happened. Can you do that? Can you put as much effort into erasing it as you are putting into trying to find excuses that I neither believe nor want to hear? Try something else.

How ’bout we do this? I’ll go out for a cup of coffee, take a breather away from your chatter, clear my head, and you can stay here, record that shit if you want (not that I’ll listen to it later either) and think about what you’re going to do from here on in.

You should be done by the time I get back.

Author: Nikoletta Vasilopoulou

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