Not so sweet revenge

Ok, now that the dust has settled and I've had over four hours of sleep, I get to elaborate on the happenings of last night.

MGH is Fucked. Up.

Well, WAS... I'm sure he's doing better now. 

After coming home from visiting the newly-widowed friend/cousin, I came home and let MGH know I was home and he could drop by whenever he wanted.

He showed up with his friend who brought him to town (a really cute kid, btw. Who is actually really smart. Even when intoxicated, his vocabulary does not take a beating. "I personally hated Tao... very presumptuous" Wait... did he just say "presumptuous?" Holy shit, son, I think I love you!).

They had no plan as to what they were going to do, so we just suggested we take it to the strip and go from there.

The friend, whose name is--surprise, surprise-- Jose (yet I found myself calling him "Pedro" the whole night... and I was sober) remembered O'Sheas and the beer pong... so we went.

Of course, we couldn't hit up the place without getting some yardlongs, so we did that first.

The boys played fours games, four games they won. By the fourth, however, MGH was fucked. up. He couldn't even stand straight.

Getting him back to the car was a fucking hassle. He kept approaching EVERY SINGLE GIRL on the strip... kept trying to hook up.

God, I'd hate to be Heather.

He'd also call black people "Nigger" each time we'd walk past one. I was fearing for my life on that one.

It took us about an hour to get him from O'Sheas and in the damn car. 

I was FURIOUS. 

Extremely uncooperative, annoying drunks are the fucking bane of my existence... especially when they start digging into MY time.

Once IN the car, I kept fighting with him over the seatbelt. I'd try to keep it on him, and once that annoyed HIM, he went ahead and kept undoing MINE.

GOD DAMN IT! I HAAAAATE DRUNK PEOPLE!

After the seatbelt struggle, he passed out on the car door, with the window down.

He was sweating profusely.

When he'd wake up from his blackouts, he'd cry.

What. The. Fuck?

***

MGH spent his more-lucid beer-pong moments walking over to me and squeezing my biceps... or sitting on my lap.

His line of the night was:

I don't want to sound disrespectful... or like... offend you... but... you look... you look so... fit... like, really, REALLY fit... like... you used to be like this (puts his arms on the side of me as if he's hugging a larger person) and now you're... (squeezes my arms together). I don't want to offend you... but you look... really, really good. You've changed a lot. A LOT!

I had to assure him repeatedly that he wasn't offending me. I also had to thank him, because that seemed to shut him up for longer periods of time.

In the parking lot, he apologized for pissing me off.

Me: What would Heather think of you flirting and touching such fucking ugly girls?

MGH: I'm single.

Me: Right now you are, because she's back home and you're here.

MGH: NO. I'm. Single. Right Jose? Tell them!

Jose: Yeah. He's single.

Me: When did this happen?

Jose: Like... four days ago?

Me: What? Why?

MGH: She's just... it's girl stuff. She left me. She dumped me.

Jose: I don't understand why you were with that girl. I fucking HATE Heather. She's so fucking mean to you. I'm glad it's over.

MGH: Yeah. Fucking girl stuff. Her excuses were fucking girl stuff. And she left me. I'm single. I've been single for days.

The cat was out of the bag.

Everything was making sense-- his flirting with every fucking girl in our path, his constant hugging of me... the physical contact he insisted on having with me. His Vegas trip.

It was... pathetically sad.

I felt terrible for him... but there's no way in hell I'd ever... "help" cheer him up.

Our time is gone.

Instead of feeling nothing for him, as has been the case the last few times I've seen him, this time I was feeling repulsed. Not that he was making me feel sick... but I just didn't want to be in contact. I didn't want that type of attention from him.

This will never work, son. Let it go. 

I also felt... well... a little angry. It's that damn resentful trait of mine.

I say we're cool... and we are, for the most part. But the back of my mind will NEVER forgive a person who was so... vain... and didn't give me a chance based solely on my appearance. 

They didn't care how kind I was, how cool I was, or how funny I was... how willing to do anything for them I might have been... how I damn near worshipped them. They threw it all aside because I didn't match their mold for physical attractiveness... and that is something I NEVER forget. It'll eat away at me for life.

Ah, yes, So-and-So... wasted three years of my life trying to convince him I was a good catch... that he wouldn't regret choosing me... but he kicked me to the curb because I was fat. Screw my good deeds, my kindness... how awesome I made him feel... he thought that was useless and went for the shallow bullshit in a girl. Ah. What a shame. Bummer dude. Good luck with that, 'cause I'm sure you'll be hot for life.

I promise you, no matter how much I ever liked you, or how desperate I may have been for your attention... the moment you discard me, is the moment you discard me FOR GOOD. I'll be your friend... but I will NEVER, EVER... EVER take you back in the "romantic" sense. EVER. I won't even let you know what my hand in yours feels like. 

My tears are that valuable to me. Your disdain is that meaningful to me.

Lick my ass all you want, but my resentment and anger will never allow me to let you back into my heart. 

That, and I'm vindictive. If anything drives me in this life, it's spite. I want to see you hurt. I want to prove you wrong. Call it cruel... call it vicious... I don't care. Life made me that way... and I'm down to give anyone a dose of that medicine the moment they hurt me.

***

As I sat in the backseat next to MGH, watching him drool and wipe away giant tears from his eyes... I didn't feel like "justice" had been served. A year and a half ago, I would cry myself to sleep, swearing this new bitch of his would hurt him... and that I'd enjoy every single fucking minute of his pain.

But I sat next to him, making sure he was safe and comfortable... rubbing his back like you do a newborn, constantly reassuring him life would be ok. 

And that he was a great guy.

My heart would drop that much deeper into my stomach the moment I'd see another one of his giant tear drops fall into the palm of his opened hand.
This isn't fun anymore.