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He leaves the room, nodding his head. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”
He shuts the door and walks away. I’m starting to feel my eyes fall when I hear the vibrating of a phone. Mine’s switched to silent…
I discover his phone must have slipped out of his pocket and onto the bed while he was trying to persuade me to stay.
I look at the lock screen and there’s a new message, from someone called Kelly. It reads:Sorry to hear you’re ill today, bummer! Will miss you at work. Kel x
I try to bust my way into his phone, guessing the six-digit code. I use his date of birth, mine, but neither works. I try a few simple combinations and they don’t work. I’m told I have one more try before the phone requires a fingerprint.
I remember I once did watch him open the phone and the beginning of the code was 24. It can’t be, can it? I plug in the date we first fucked. I’m in.
I search his messages, trying to find something. Scrolling through his convo with this Kelly, it all seems professional and nothing dodgy. Perhaps she has a crush on him, but he wouldn’t let it develop into more, would he?
I don’t know.
I scroll further and further back, to messages from months and months ago. He changed his number but saved old messages to the phone memory? I get to the couple of contacts he hasn’t put in his phonebook; all I can see are their numbers, not their names.
Bad boy, what would you do to me, then?
Fuck you until you cream down my cock.
And after?
Smear it all over your face.
It’s pretty much the same sort of thing between him and these two unnamed people… and the point is, he’s kept their messages.
I feel cold inside, dead almost, and I don’t think I care anymore for him and his lies.
I don’t trust him. I might never be able to.
He comes into the room unannounced, finding me holding his phone.
He looks from me to the phone, as though he’s been busted. He has always kept that thing on him at all times and can’t be without it.
“You can leave. Send your brothers later for your stuff. I don’t want to see you ever again.”
I keep my eyes trained on my lap and he edges away, taking his phone with him.
Strangely as the door shuts behind him, I feel unburdened, I feel freed of this charade… this false romance.
He’s only ever wanted one thing from women and that’s for them to be his slag. Well, I’m much more than that. I want to be fucked and loved as much as any woman, but I also want to be respected, ultimately, and he doesn’t and never did respect me.
I’m tired of holding up weaker people all the time. I was only ever a fantasy to him, not a real person, otherwise he would have treated me so much better.
Now, it’s time for me.
Fuck you, Paul Barton.
Fuck you.
