June 20th
Two weeks. That's how long it had been since I'd seen or spoken to Michael. Two weeks avoiding his calls and texts, messages going unanswered because I refused to be fooled by him again.
Michael had fucked me, literally and figuratively, for the last time.
My friends were confused as to why I was spending my nights at home rather than go out with them. I spent the last two weekends in a row with my door locked and my blinds drawn, shutting everyone and everything out.
The raw, honest truth was that I was humiliated and I'd rather wallow in self pity than acknowledge the real problem, which was that I missed Michael. I missed him so much I ached. But no matter how bad that ache got I wouldn't text him.
I couldn't.
It was my third Tuesday night at home with my favorite green throw blanket wrapped around me. I was curled up on the couch, greasy hair pulled up in a bun and wearing the baggiest clothes I owned. I had a one way ticket to Drunksville with my white wine disappearing very quickly. My bloodshot eyes were glued to the mindless reality show that played on the tv, but I wasn't paying attention. I was, for the umpteenth time, replaying my last conversation with Michael.
"Just give me a minute to explain, yeah?" Michael followed me up to my front door, beating me there and blocking my path. "Y/N."
I had managed to keep my cool until we were nearly at my house, using the excuse that I was tired so that he'd just drop me off and leave. Michael saw right through my bullshit but didn't comment on it, instead opting to hold my hand silently during the drive back to my house. I spent the drive looking out the window and letting the disappointment settle in my gut.
I confronted Michael as soon as he pulled into the driveway, giving him a brief rundown of the conversation I'd overheard at Javu, opting to leave out the last bit when I heard her say he called her first. I watched, my stomach in knots as his face went pale and his mouth opened, no sound coming out. It was all the reaction I needed and I nearly leapt out of his car.
That was when he chased me up to my front door.
"Michael, please get out of my way. I have nothing to say to you."
"But I have things to say to you." He pleaded.
Gritting my teeth, I quickly weighed my options and decided to just go for it because fuck it, after tonight I'll never see him again. "Tell me why I'm mad."
"What?"
"Tell me why I'm angry with you."
Michael looked at me as though I had ten heads. "You're angry because I slept with her and didn't tell you."
"Wrong. I don't care that you fucked her, Michael. I care that you brought me on a date to a restaurant where we were waited on by a girl you fucked, and then acted as though you had no clue who she was. And don't feed me any bullshit line about you not knowing she worked there. I know you, Michael. The same way you know me. You were bitter and you wanted to piss her off."
"And why would I do that?"
I took a deep breath, hitting him with the real reason I was so upset. "You called her first. And she told you fuck off."
Michael paused, his eyes widening slightly. I waited for a moment and hated myself as I wished he would laugh, shrug it off, tell me it wasn't true. He didn't call her first. But he said nothing, and in that silence I heard him loud and clear. Her words had been true.
"Get out of my way." I stepped forward.
He stepped forward, reaching up to grip my arm. "Y/N, just give me a minute. I'd been drinking, I wasn't thinking straight-"
