“Your priorities are different from mine,” he says smugly.
Never have I been more gobsmacked by someone in my life. I never thought Lucas could hurt my feelings more than he did at this very moment.
“You gave me a promise ring. For what? To string me along. To be at your beck and call when you needed something?” I theorize.
“It’s what you needed. I am trying to do what’s best for you,” he says, his hand on my shoulder firmly.
I look at him pointedly and shrug my shoulder away from his conniving touch.
“What the fuck was I for you the past eight years? A distraction? A place to stick your dick?” I ask, anger seething from deep inside me.
“Oh, come on, it’s not like the sex is good,” he says, his lips turn upwards in amusement.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Sex is supposed to be amazing. You just lay there like a dead fish. Plus, the weight is a huge turn off, babe,” he says.
I never looked at myself in the mirror and thought I was too big to be attractive. I never thought of myself as fat. I don’t have the most confidence, but I most certainly don’t think I am too fat to be loved. I grew up instilled with confidence in myself and that included every part of my body. I was always thick and curvy, and at one point in time that was the hottest point on my body for him.
“I have only been with you,” I say quietly, tears swelling in my eyes.
“We were in a huge sexual rut for a long time. If you wanted to keep me, you would have figured out what to do to keep my interest. You would have lost the weight,” he says.
“I shouldn’t have to lose weight to make you want me,” I whisper.
I hung my head, covered my mouth with my hand and gave him a death stare capable of exuding all my emotions through my green eyes. He grabs my hand from my mouth and kisses it softly.
“It was alright. You will get better, but I found someone else. You should try and get out there,” he says, his eyebrow raised with an amused wink.
Fucking prick.
Fucking asshole.
Fuck you.
I watch as he walks away from me and straight into the direction of our mutual friend, Anna. Of course, it’s her. She is the tilt-a-whirl of the whole campus and has had more dick than a porn star auditioning. He grabs onto her hand and turns her around to walk away, her perky boobs bounced like water balloons against her lean frame. Fucking classic, jock falls for the blonde bimbo and breaks the normal one’s heart for an experienced vagina.
Experienced vagina? What the fuck am I talking about?
I rest my hand on my hip, appalled that he chooses now to walk off with his trophy piece of loose whore-hole in front of everyone. My face turns peachy red as my body temperature rises and I blink back warm tears. Suddenly, Lucas turns back around to face me, his hands never leaving his freakshow clit-monster.
“Tell your father hi for me,” he says quietly.
My father? My father?!
You have the nerve to mention my father to me, you are lucky I didn’t punch you in your face and ruin your fake golden-boy tan.
“Go to hell you piece of shit!” I exclaim.
“Come on,” he argues.
My hands tightened into fists. My Irish-Italian blood bubbling to the surface like an unresearched island volcano.
“I hope she enjoys your two-inch limp dick! Oh, and Anna keep your panties under lock and key because he likes how they make his balls feel like they are being hugged!” I exclaim, sarcasm and anger mixing together in a recipe of heartbreak.
He puts his arm around her hips and leads her away from the roaring laughter of the people around us. I smooth down my graduation robe uncomfortably. I felt as if everyone’s eyes were on me, watching me and judging me. A perpetual scowl covering my face as I walk away from the crowd of graduates around me. I walk through the parking lot in a daze. The light from the lamp posts shined on my face as I played with the car keys in my hand.
I am such a fucking fool. He could be right. I could have watched my weight. I could have taken better care of myself. I could have been more comfortable with my sexuality and be the lover he needed.
I stop in mid-step, “What the fuck am I talking about?” I ask myself.
Yes, I could have done those things, but it doesn’t change the fact that your now ex-boyfriend is a cheating scuzball and your ass will always be fat.
I sigh in frustration and walk to my car: a periwinkle blue Honda Accord from the nineties. My very first car and a gift from my Nonna and Nonno on my high school graduation. I place my key into the passenger side keyhole and open the door. My car was already packed with my suitcase and box from my dorm room. The driver’s side door doesn’t open so I crawl in through the passenger seat. Honking the horn with my ass cheeks and summoning the shifter between my thighs.
“Shit,” I mutter, exhaling loudly as I settle into the gray cloth fabric of the driver’s seat under me.
“Shifter trying to bite my cooch, set off the horn with my ass, boyfriend is fucking some flat assed barbie doll and broke up with me because I’m fat,” I say, sucking in a short breath and releasing it with a sigh.
“Happy fucking graduation,” I sang sarcastically, hitting my forehead against the steering wheel.
I start the ignition and my blue shit-machine comes to life loudly like Frankenstein waking up. It’s loud. It’s old. It’s a shit machine. But it’s mine. My father said it has character. I set out for the long drive from Atlanta to Tampa. Six-and-a-half-hours, four hundred and fifty-six miles of nothing but open highway on I-75 south to reflect on the past eight years of my life.
* * *