How to Love You

17

October 8

The dreaded next morning of last night came slowly; I had enlarged puffy eyes, the entirety of my face had gone as pale as snow, and I couldn't stop myself from involuntarily shaking.

I never thought once that living with you would be my own personal hell, until I saw you casually walk into the kitchen in his t-shirt, instead of mine. You hadn't noticed me standing a few feet away in the living room, solemnly glaring you down, as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

When I heard our bedroom door open again and saw last night's hookup come out, shirtless and only dressed in a pair of white underwear, I couldn't hold back the enraged scoff from my mouth. You finally looked up from stirring the sugar in your coffee and gave me a nonchalant smile, not realizing the hurt, the betrayal, and the pain you had caused me. How come you couldn't see it on my face; you couldn't see the despair practically seeping out of all my pores?

The man was the complete opposite of me; his body was built much smaller, and he had short blonde hair, resembling him to be a stereotypical frat boy, while I was bigger, more muscular, and had brown hair, resembling an early Liam Hemsworth. If I hadn't looked into his glimmering green eyes, I wouldn't have realized that this was the same man you were flirting with at the cafe the other day.

"What's up, man?" He said, holding his hand out to me. I didn't shake his hand; I didn't want to even look at them, knowing they had touched you in places only I was supposed to be able to.

I desperately wanted to get into a brawling argument right then and there, but I didn't.

I couldn't accuse you of cheating or being unfaithful, because you simply didn't realize what you were doing was wrong.