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Never mind the high road.

Usually I'll be quick to rationalize a situation and assume responsibility for my own discomfort.

But you know what?

Fuck you.

You knew that I was stupid in love with you. You knew that this was true. The benefit of the doubt turned out to be an astounding loss.

And you kept fucking me. Sporadically and without ANY regard for my clitoris. Because you could. Because I let you. Because I didn't think I wanted anybody else. While I do feel like a little idiot, I do feel that you're a little monster.

 Though I didn't really say anything except for one time and then you assured me against my fear of being used.

But you shouldn't have. You should have been a man then and told me that your dick was keen on me but that you'd rather have a more well-connected broad with a bevy of networks and names to drop like the hot loads you dropped on me.


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'Hope, you don't have to use it on your wedding night.'

She handed the pistol to Hope, right after the vows, right before the reception.

'I'm just kidding, darling. Don't worry. He's a good man. You did well sweetheart. He's a good man. You'll be fine.'

Hope's paper-thin smile tried to grow as she stared at her grandmother's reflection in the mirror. The mother-of-pearl grip sparkled in her grandmother's hand, bathed by the Chapel's cheap buzzing lights.

'There's a bullet for you, just in case.'

Hope had left the gun on the table.

A week earlier, drunk off self-pity, she had taken it out of its case and walked to the kitchen, where she stuck the barrel in her mouth and proceeded to take pictures of herself to send to Ray.

In a rare instance of good fortune, her phone ran out of battery before she could indulge her sense of pithy revenge. She woke up and pried open her tear-salted eyelashes then made sure to delete an…