That Girl

As I light another cigarette my mind runs in circles trying to conjure the appropriate emotion. Nothing seems right. I can't even feel angry at either of them. Because it's my fault. I wasn't enough. My emaciated frame and imperfect smile weren't enough for him. Even now as he begs for my forgiveness and insists it was the alcohol, I know it has to be my fault. Maybe if I was more affectionate or less concerned about ever ounce of fat on my body I could have been.

He says he didn't think I would react this way. What way? I'm not reacting at all. I just keep asking simple questions. "Why did you do it? I know you weren't blacked out. Is it because she's fat? Do you like fat girls? I can never be your fat girlfriend. Do you still want her? Why did it have to be your best friend?"

I'm calm, but words are tinged with insanity, the stereotypical woman scorned. But I'm not upset. Not at them. Not at the situation. It was simple. She wanted him. She worked on him for weeks. Not so subliminal messaging every time they partied together. Asking about me. About us. Waiting for an opportunity. No, it's not just her fault. Not even close. He kissed her. He put this hell into motion. But she pushed him; urged him to move his lips closer. Playing the damsel. "Matt has been so awful to me lately. I just miss hanging out with you. I'm always happy around you."

 

I'm glad she's always happy around him. I used to be too.

 

Now all I can do is think. Constantly assessing each scrap of knowledge I pry from his deceitful tongue. Interpreting what he says and construing it how it must have been. Because he's lying. I know there must be more to the story. 

 

For the next few weeks I interrupt our brief moments of attempted normalcy with questions. "Have you talked to her? Is she sorry? Has she gained weight? Have I gained weight? Are you still attracted to me? Do you still love me? Do you love her?"

 

Is she sorry? She may have said the word, devoid of the appropriate emotion. She doesn't care that she hurt me. Obviously. I'm a stranger. A stranger that has something she wants. Maybe she's sorry he's hurt. Probably not. She thinks she can fix him. Again she spews that bullshit, "You make me happy. I want to be with you."

She could have been with him. They could have been happy. I could have been happy for them. But she didn't want him. She only wants him now because he's taken. F**k her. Actually f**k her. Maybe if he had fucked her I feel something other than this constant confusion and inability to grasp the situation. 

 

And then anger. I hate her. I hate her for being everything I'm not. Gorgeous. Outgoing. Fat. It's unfair to constantly attack her weight. I know it is, but I can't stop thinking about it. He didn't know it would affect me so much. How could he not know I would constantly compare myself to her physically? Does he not know me at all? I hate fat people, but the fact that she is and I'm not is unbearable. I just want to be better than her in every way however impossible the task. It's unhealthy. I hate it. I know it's ridiculous. So I don't act. I try to push the thoughts out of my head. 

 

He says I can do whatever I need to say to make things right. I yell at him. Nothing. I see her at a party and introduce myself politely. In return she steals him away and complains that I'm fake. That she still wants him. By now I only bask in the satisfaction that I have something she can never have. 

 

Being outwardly nice to her only makes me hate her more. I gave her a chance. I tried to like her and put all the blame on him. But she's a b***h. Even as his friend I would never want him with a girl like that. Because that's all she is. A little immature girl. Gossiping and causing drama. I will never stoop that low. As much as it pains me I keep my mouth shut. Even though I could hurt her. I know exactly what to say to cut down her inflated ego, her outwardly confident appearance.

 

I could say I love her dress, but it's a shame they were out of her size. That it must be uncomfortable to be cased up like a sausage. That she's lucky to have such a beautiful face because no man would ever want her for those soft pudgy rolls girls call curves to make themselves feel better. That he used to be attracted to her before she put on those extra 15 pounds. That she would still be with Matt if she had put out. Then again, probably not, because who would want to see her naked anyway? 

 

As much as I've convinced myself that hurting her will make me feel better, it won't. So I keep my thoughts to myself. It's me who is at fault. He fucked up. She wants to f**k him. I need to accept it and move on. Nothing is going to change so I need to.

Author's Note

This is my first piece! I wasn't sure exactly how to format something like this with the bits of dialogue throughout. Let me know what you think. Please be critical!