Written By Scarlette. 


I drank too much tonight, and as hard as I try, you’re here, roaming around in my head. There’s no one to take my phone away this time and, though I’m sure you’ve gotten your fair share of drunk texts in your time, this will be the first and last one that I’ll ever send. Now, that I still have enough focus to type coherently, but have little to no inhibitions about speaking my mind. And now that logic has fallen into an alcohol-induced coma and it’s not here to stop me as it has a hundred times since that night till now.

You can go ahead and ignore this one as well; I’ve become fairly acquainted with “seen” as my only response. But this is the last message I’m wasting on you and you should know it.

I’m angry. No, “angry” doesn’t cover it. I’m infuriated. Completely and utterly infuriated with you, with myself, with the whole damn fucked up world. I can find a million different excuses, a thousand justifications, play the devil’s advocate until I’m blue in the face; none of it changes the fact that I’m pissed.

I’m angry with me because I still goddamn care. I shouldn’t; logic and sensibility say that I shouldn’t give a single side-ways fuck about you. But I do. I care if you’re well, if you got enough sleep last night, if you’ve taken a break to clear your head at work, if you’ve eaten at all today, if people are pissing you off, if you’ve smiled at all since this morning (and who made you smile—I’m not a jealous person and I’m pissed that I get jealous when it comes to you).

Why should I care? Why should it take up any of my energy, any of my grey matter, to be interested, to even think about you for even 2 seconds a day?

And you know nothing. So brilliant and so fucking stupid at the same time. Your stupidity infuriates me too. How is it that your mind can be so sharp and yet you can be so blind when it comes to my pretenses? I get mean and you seem to be oblivious. Or indifferent.

Either way, I want to punch you.

And you know what pisses me off most of all? The fact that, with all your talk, all that bullshit, you basically left me completely unsatisfied. Don’t get me wrong, the sex was good enough. But I didn’t bargain for one night of ­–not even mutually– okay drunken sex. Is “okay” what you were aiming for in all those months? Did that cover it for you? I really expected better. Or more. Something else anyway. I didn’t get enough. I didn’t get my fill of you. (pun not -so- intended)

Maybe I’m pissed because of that. I wanted you to deliver on your words, and what I got wasn’t even close.

If you were to ask me what the point of writing this is, I really wouldn’t know what to tell you. For some reason I can’t even comprehend, I want you to know. And that fucking drives me crazy. I shouldn’t care what you think of me. I shouldn’t want you to know since you show no interest or inclination to find out.

I’m pissed because I fell in love with you. I didn’t want to. I tried not to. Neither of us wants that at the moment. And I can’t afford another “it’s complicated” relationship from hell. I’ve had it with them. I knew beforehand that I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t control it with you.

And the worst part is that I still can’t. Yes, I still care. Yes, I’m still interested. Yes, for some infuriating reason, fucking beyond my comprehension, I want you. Any which way, every which way.  I want your lips and your touch. I want every inch of your body. I want you in me. I want your smile and your laugh. I want your asinine comments and irony. I want to be able to whack you across the head for being such a moron.

I want to know why. I want you to tell me, to explain to me, what happened. What went wrong. What I said or did that was so bad that you deemed the proper conduct was to completely cut me off as if we were strangers and as if it had never happened. I think I deserve that much.

I’m pissed because, even now, even writing this, I can’t say that I’d be able to put my ego above all and deny you if, one fine day, you decided on a rematch. I talk big babe, but when it comes to you, I’ll slip right back into it all; and I’ll enjoy it. And as much as I say that I’m in complete control, my knees still buckle at the sight of you and I lose my speech when I hear your voice.

Truth is I still want you, just as I did the first day, and I’d still have you, even now.

And I’m goddamn pissed about it.

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