Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Little Miss Perfect, showing up at my door unannounced. Come in, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Color me intrigued, to say in the least. It’s been ages since the last time you were here, and if my memory does not fail me, you stormed out quite spectacularly.

Let me pour you a glass of water and pretend I can’t see you x-ray scanning both me and my place. Yes, a lot has changed. Yes, I’m doing fine for myself, thank you very much. How have you been? Oh, really? Good for you, you always wanted to do that! I’m glad to hear it! And the small-talk charade goes on for a few minutes. We play our parts well enough – but the eyes, chica, the eyes never lie.

I can see how you’re looking at me and you can see how I’m looking at you. You got me, darling. You’re in. So you take it to the next level; you start reminiscing about us. You’re smiling beautifully. I must admit I missed that smile, kinda. It brings back memories, many of them sweet. Well, bittersweet, but even so I have to agree; we had a good run, while it lasted.

And then you look at me, eyes playfully sparkling. You bite your lower lip, flash me a cutely lopsided smile and let the cat out of the bag.

You know,” you say, “if I had another shot at this, if we had another chance, I’d do things quite differently”.

Oh, really. Would you now?

I draw a tiny bit of satisfaction of the way you subtly flinch as my expression grows icy-cold. So, you mean you wouldn’t take advantage of my affection – my love, really – to emotionally abuse me? You wouldn’t take out all your insecurities, complexes and frustrations on me? You wouldn’t dump old boring me to go chasing off some summer fling, proceed to be used and discarded, then have the nerve to expect me to take you back?

Ex” does not stand for “excused”, darling. It didn’t back then, and it certainly does not now. Did you mistake my civility for forgiveness? Did you really expect me to have forgotten? Did you believe we could make all the bad blood simply go away? And even if we could, do you believe we’d have a chance?

All that which drove us apart, babe, all that which made us jump on each other’s throat like rabid dogs, has it really been resolved? Or would it once again rear its ugly head the moment our renewed humping-like-crazy honeymoon phase would end?

No, sweetcheeks. Not again. Never in my life.

I don’t know what made you remember me and pop up in my life again, but I can see that you really put an effort to it. You did your hair the way you know I always liked. You chose the kind of outfit that always turned me on. You even wore the same perfume you wore the day we met, the one you know that makes my head swim. And now, when all else failed, you play that last card; seduction.

Surprisingly, it works – though just for a moment and in a very twisted way. God help me, I wanna take you here and now. Carnally. Angrily. Not as a way to show affection or even lust, but dominance; to assert my power over the person who screwed me up once, and now wants to do so again. I want to bend you over and have my way with you, then throw you where you belong; out of my house, out of my life. I feel disgusted with myself. You always had a talent to bring out the absolutely worst in me.

That dark moment passes, however. I want you out of here. I don’t even go in the trouble to make some bald-faced excuse. I don’t hate you, don’t get me wrong, but I straight up ask you to leave and never return.

As I’m walking you to the door, I can see the subtle signs of our storm of a relationship still linger around. I glimpse at the slight dent on the fridge door (from the time you made me so angry I had to punch something). I glance at the nick on the door case wood (from the time I made you so angry you threw an ashtray at me). They’re enough to make me sure of one thing: We’re toxic for each other, darling. We always were, we always will be.

So I bid you farewell. I wish you all the best, I really do. But please go away and never come back. You and I are done.

Author: Chris Wilkins

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