Your Social Media| d.h

O n e

I saw your picture last night. Drunk, at 3 am, I click your Instagram and stare.

You look intoxicated. Your head is thrown back in laughter, your dimples deep. Your eyes, your beautiful chocolate eyes, are half shut. You've got your arm around someone, a pretty brunette. She's laughing too, staring at you. Staring at you with those brown eyes, filled with adoration.

I used to do that too.

I can't stop. I'm heaving with sobs, my arms curled around my legs. I'm sobbing with regret, frustration, anger, sadness. I don't know how long I cry for. Why did I leave you? I can still remember your face as you watched me go. You watched me with a mixture of fear and regret. I can remember our last phone call, the call when you broke down in tears and said I broke him. I started to sob then too, hanging up before you could hear my cries of anguish.

Drying my red eyes, I see that you've tagged her in your picture. I click onto her Instagram, @AliceBellerose. Her profile picture is of her smiling, her dark brown hair and eyes glowing with life. In contrast, my blonde hair and brown eyes look dull, lifeless.

Her pictures are of holidays in France, her home country. There are pictures of beautiful horses which I assume she owns, ballet shoes, flowers, quotes and most importantly: of you, Dan. There's one blurry shot of the back of your head. Another person wouldn't be able to decipher who it was due to its bad quality, but I immediately recognise your tiny birthmark just under your ear.

In another photo, she's holding a cupcake, but in the corner of the the table lies your phone, the screen hidden. I recognise your phone case, the case that I got you. In the corner of the case is a small engraving: frikkin zazzed in Comic Sans. You'd laughed at the simple black design, but hugged me and said you'd loved it.

Were you lying? Just to please me?

I return to your Instagram, scrolling through your old pictures. There's only one of me. It's a picture of me looking down at my phone, unsmiling. My straight, short hair looks different to her long, shiny waves. My dull baby blue eyes are different to her shining hazel ones. My pale lips don't look the same as her red rosebud ones.

Is she a friend, a lover? Do you look at her and smile? Does she rub your jawbone like I used to? Do you rest your hands on her waist?

At 3:20 am, you post another picture. You never stayed up that late at a party. You'd say you were tired and we'd fall asleep in your bed. It's another one of her. She's holding a bright blue cocktail, but the focus is on her. I look at the comments, relieved when I see most of them angry.
Who is she?
Wtf i thought he was dating Phil
Does he have a gf
She's so ugly lol

I suppose you'd moved on then. It's been six months, I'm hardly surprised. I remember girls at the parties we rarely went to talking to you, winding their glossy hair around their fingers. It made me laugh when your ears went red in embarrassment. I pale in comparison to their slim bodies and beautiful faces.

You said you didn't mind my shape. You said you didn't care, that I was beautiful in your eyes. Is that why your new girlfriend is slim, dark-haired and pretty? Were you sick of me? Sick of my body, my waist that wasn't small enough for you to grip? My hips that were too wide? My thighs that didn't touch in the middle?

Wasn't I good enough for you?