She moved in the apartment opposite to us after majoring in French.
I bet the bitch already speaks French, fluently.
First time my husband locked his eyes with hers he didn’t realize how devastated I was looking at him, I was nonexistent for a few moments, he introduced us to the nice girl and they talked for minutes, all I heard was a low-pitched whistle.
The next week I get a new iPhone 6s wrapped with “my one and only love”, might as well have said “compensation for infidelities”. We never talked about her and I never saw them talking again, on that day he made sensual love to me, I orgasmed. Three days later, The Man Who Sold the World blasts from her speakers, his all time favorite song, one we frequently made love to.
On my way to work she’s beside me in her Smart toy car, she gives me this playful smile, she’s playing.
During sex, he becomes unusually aggressive, “do you want it harder, honey?” he asks, I reluctantly answer yes and he throttles like his life depends on it, it was fun, but it wasn’t him. He doesn’t give me the forehead kiss afterwards, he reaches for a Marlboro Red, he never smoked cigarettes this heavy.
He suggests we go see Mad Max in the movie theater, he never liked action movies. While the movie is playing he slides his hand down my thigh, like we’re college students, I sit still, overwhelmed. Instead of heading home he wants to go for a walk, at 12:45 AM.
In bed, we snuggle, in silence, in warmness.
The next day the bitch plays the trailer of Mad Max through speakers that almost shattered my windows. The day after they are gone.
He left me the apartment and the car.
Goodbye, I said to myself.