I found out you slept with Sam behind my back and lied to me about it. It was after I wrote you something sweet and genuine that I find out you had effectively lied to me about the texts you had received from him earlier. You lied and for him. You disgusted me. I did not want to be in the same bed as you and I didn’t want to hear anything but I didn’t want to self-destruct our dynamic for something I hoped was wrong.
But you cried when I confronted you about it. You cried because of the violation of privacy, but I think it was more about being caught red handed for being the lying bitch I found you to be. I was hurt beyond words and tears and all you could do was lie. It was your birthday though, and I somehow, against heaven and hell, managed to make it up to you and have an enjoyable one.
But the next week was a blur. I couldn’t believe my luck, the idea of you fucking Sam again, the worst person I had ever known. I lost a little respect for you that summer, when I could barely control myself. And so, not only did you become more disgusting to me, but I became a disgusting person to myself.
I don’t know which was worse.
You kept fucking him over the summer and I couldn’t deal with you anymore. You were the source of my pain and I don’t think that wound ever really went away. Sure, it healed and it might be a scar now, but it’s still there.