Get Your Revenge

You find that you love smoking, the act of lifting burning element to mouth repeatedly—the gift of multi-tasking your vices. It soothes you; it feels like you’ve come a long, fruitless way. It is your best friend now that your ex best friend, ex-lover has found somebody new.

Well, not new exactly, it’s her ex-boyfriend, the submissive whom she did not understand, this totality who you didn’t see her for five months over, Ex. All you did was go on vacation, take acid, play your stupid bass, and visit historic sites with your dysfunctional family, and your girl fucked her last man. Ouch.

It happens over a few weeks that you find out. Nikki and you have lots of talks, and no sex. For you, this is a bad thing, as the hot part is being forsaken for the sad, trying part of a relationship. You turn to cigarettes. Turn to the solid act of smoking, over and over, never leaving your side, never abandoning you. Turn to what you can ensure. You masturbate in front of the computer more often than you care to mention. Winter only seems lonely because there are no people around, right? It’s not just you, all the people around you are out-of-sorts and you begin scheming.

You‘ve conducted Evil Bitter Revenge Plans before, so this time everything falls into place easily. You meet up with the perpetrator in your usual way, that is calling him, and having him meet you outside your bedroom window, which you routinely sneak out of. Your shoddy apartment is called ‘terrace level,’ which translates into ‘basement’ in other parts of the world. This means that your window is exactly at ground level, and encased in a window box that allows you to climb out easily, without having to wedge yourself or jump or anything.

So you call the boy over, and he comes to pick you up. Somehow, you both know what is going to happen. The two of you smoke a bowl, ritual bonding and social hierarchy determining. Usually when you smoke someone’s pot, you feel like you owe them something, like a blowjob or a nice compliment. But tonight, you are possessed with the knowledge that you are owed your fucking girlfriend back, and you feel fine taking whatever you want. Like the self-respect of this boy, and everyone else who wants to fuck him, including your other bff who will be none too happy about this, but.

Your logic is: if he’ll fuck his ex, and then fuck you, her ex, two things must be true: 1) he doesn’t care who he fucks, making the fact that he fucked her unimportant and 2) he is easy and therefore unimportant. Forget what the other truism says about you, its what you need to know about him that counts. And on his futon, in the dim light of the train tracks behind the building, you find out exactly what you need to know. And you do not float out of your body this time.

Years later, you will tell your ex why you did what you did. Then you will leave town, people will talk about you, and your ex will tell the boy. You will see him one day, and he will drunkenly tell you that he thinks what you did was cool. Fine. It’s all over by that point, anyway. You two are the only ones left around from the situation to give a fuck.

To tell your ex-girlfriend what you’ve done, go here. [coming]
To move on and go find some cooler friends, go here.
To wallow in guilt and shame, close the window and go ahead, you're on your own.
To go from bad to worse, go here.