Back the hell off.
I took shit from you that I didn’t deserve and now I’m sick of your rubbish. You want me to be mean? Fine:
I don’t need you to fake niceness with me, you are horrible at it and we both know you’re not a nice person so why don’t you just let up. Take your bimbo-tic, gossipy wannabe ass someplace else; I cannot tolerate stupidity parading around in my face. GO, go spread your rumors and tell your pathetic story about how I ruined everything for you, because your life would’ve been so much better if I hadn’t come back. Continue believing that you would’ve been more accepted, or wanted, because you are just that desperate. I cannot BELIEVE what you did/what you’re doing, it’s so unreasonably dumb and childish. I cannot comprehend how you have not ever been slapped in the face because you are just so darn annoying. Since I apparently deserved such a long blogpost from you back then, I’m returning one now.
No, I was not trained to interact with guys (because that doesn’t sound ridiculous), nobody needs that sort of training (except you, maybe), but here’s a tip: faking an ‘accent’ and acting like a professional slut does not help with the boy[s]. I’m sorry that I got in the way of your little make-believe fairytale, but it’s about time you try to pick up the remaining bits of your dignity off the floor. Yes, we are all aware that like you clearly claimed, you are funnier and prettier than I am—blame it on his insanity (or the training I’ve had, if you insist) or maybe just your bad luck. I’m sorry that perhaps you’d already talked about your little crush with your other bimbotic friends and I got in the way, but as your friends, they would (and see, they did) accept you for the pathetic, bitter girl you are, so no worries there. Having said that, I already have another pest to deal with in this arena so if you would kindly excuse yourself you’d be doing me a great favour. Get over it, it’s been two years, go be spiteful over something else, at someone else. I was never competing with you in the first place, because honestly, you are a one lousy excuse of a competitor. There was no competition, I didn’t win; you didn’t lose. You were just irrelevant. If you think I was in the way, you’re wrong. You were in my way. So why don’t you get over yourself and try to practice some humility. A little respect would be a nice surprise as well. If not, shut the hell up and evaporate—I am tired of your face.
When you’re sleeping next to him, but you can feel his hands touching you; scoping every inch of your body, being able to finally feel as though he can feel you, your skin, your heartbeat; at his own pace, his own manner, and feeling safe to do so; because he does not want to disrupt your delicate state, but most importantly because he loves you.
