Here I Am...

To be a slave...A slave accepts these experiences I am having. A slave has agreed to whatever the master decrees, and attempts to do so with some modicum of grace. But the truth is, I haven't lived as a slave for years, and I am now expected to accept and function as slave and best friend.

I am where I am because of choices I made nearly a year ago. I fell in love with her, I let her in, I agreed to do whatever it took to have her.
All debts come due eventually.
I have learned that the price is his heart. She wanted me to get to him, and she succeeded. Perhaps not to the length she had originally wanted, because after all, it's one thing to love someone and want them to choose you over their family, it's another thing completely to be able to handle that person when you get a real taste of them.
I did some awful fucking things to him for her...

He used to keep his phone at his side for work. Now he carries it with him throughout the house at all times of day and night for her. For years I have carried my phone from room to room waiting for his text, fearing a missed call. These days I try consciously to leave it in the other room, to not live my life waiting for that call, that text, that one more message; like he awaits hers.

I was so over her. I barely thought about her at all. Life seemed to be moving on in its own fucked up but maybe gonna be okay sort of way. Then I accidentally discovered that he had been talking to her, and it felt like the sky fell. And they started talking more. Every day. And now, even in my dreams...For a while I lusted after sleep, for its peace and escape from reality. Now I dread the moment my mind drifts off because it is no better than these waking hours.

And when he saw her, he came home smelling like her, I could feel her all over him, and we fought. And he fucked me like he hated me. The next time he touched me, she texted twice. The next time I thought he was going to fuck me because he was going to be gone for days and morning sex is his thing, he stayed in the bathroom talking to her for 45 minutes instead. We fought for an hour after that, and he left. That was Wednesday. He'll be home tonight.

And I wanted to tell her that I hate her for this. Not just for what she did, but for the hell she inflicts daily. Now. But he told me not to say it, that he had asked for space, so there was no writings of bitch go fuck off and find some other space to take away, find some other goddamn person to break and just. Fucking. Rot. In. Hell.

So here I am saying it to the page.