Break Up with Him, for Me (You Belong With Me 1)

He ignores my whispered demands for answers during the intermission, and after brushing gel into his hair, he takes a few swigs of Listerine and spits into the sink. For the finale, he rummages through his top dresser drawer for cologne, spraying a bit too much of it on his chest.

“You can do this, Michael. You can do this.” He takes a few deep breaths before finally approaching the door and opening it.

“Hey there, babe,” he says.

Babe?

“Hey sexy.” A brunette who looks way older than me wraps her arms around his neck. Her D-cup breasts are popping out of a tight, low-cut pink dress, and her makeup is painted to perfection. “I know that we agreed to celebrate Valentine’s Day tomorrow, but I can’t wait until then.”

Michael grips her waist in the same way he gripped mine—giving her the same deep, open-mouthed kiss that he offered to me minutes ago. He even whispers, “I’ve missed you so damn much,” in a verbatim cadence.

What in the actual fuck?

For a moment, I wonder if I ever looked as foolish and bewildered as the brunette does at this moment. So in love and so naïve.

When he pulls away from her mouth, he lets out a deep sigh. “I need to tell you something super important, Kylie.”

“Yeah?” She kicks off her shoes. “What is it?”

“I’m a cheating bastard and I’ve been dating a high-school girl.” I wait for him to say those words and let me out of the closet, so that we can marvel at his lies.

“I know that we’ve been ‘off and on’ these past few months,” he says, grabbing her hands and staring into her eyes. “But I want you to know that I’m ready for us to stay ‘on’ this time for good, and I’ve put a lot of thought into making our Valentine’s Day special … I have strawberries, whipped cream, and a specialty champagne I bought for you.”

No, really. What in the actual—

“Oh my gosh, seriously?” She points to the red purse at the foot of his bed. My red purse. “Is that Coach bag for me, too?”

“Yes, it is.” He pushes it onto the floor. “I’ll let you grab that later. Kiss me first.”

I pinch myself a few times to make sure that I’m not imagining this scene. That somewhere along my linear narrative of the day, the universe hasn’t randomly decided to throw in a crazy subplot that ruins my story.

The painful pinches on my wrists are real as ever, though, and the more I watch Michael’s mannerisms—the more I hear him whisper the very words he’s whispered to me, the past months of our relationship play before my eyes in a clarifying slow-motion.

He only called me at night, and he hardly ever wanted to go on dates during the daytime, since he claimed, “I want to keep you all to myself.” He preferred showing up to my practices at the rink instead of letting me come over.

Although he did come to some of my competitions, he never took selfies with me at the ceremonies. He waited until I joined him in the parking lot, and he was always parked in the farthest row.

Foolish, foolish girl.

By the time I’m finished replaying all of the memories that confirm he was never serious about me, the brunette is moaning, and he’s trailing wet kisses against her chest.

“Oh godddd, Michael,” she says.

Screw this.

I kick at the closet door until it opens.

“Seriously, Michael? Were you planning to let me rot in there all night?”

He looks over his shoulder and gasps.

“Um…Who are you?” The brunette covers her chest with a pillow. “And why the hell are you watching us from the closet?”

“Oh, wow,” Michael says, his voice deadpan. “This is so shocking. This is my roommate’s girlfriend—Well, ex-girlfriend. I think she’s here trying to surprise him or something.”

I stare at him in utter disbelief.

“That’s who you are, isn’t it?” He shoots me a pleading look.

“Hell no.” I grab my purse. “This is my Coach bag, by the way.”

I look over at the brunette as I head to the door. “I’ve been dating him since January, and I almost gave him my virginity tonight. He’s been cheating on you, too.”

I don’t wait for the aftermath. I slam the door shut and rush straight down the emergency stairwell.

Seattle’s wet and winds slap me in the face once I push open the door. They remind me that I left my coat in Michael’s room.

Refusing to return, I fold my arms across my chest and walk to the front of the building.

When I make it inside the lobby, I pull out my phone and open the Uber app. The closest driver is an hour away, and there’s a mandatory surcharge for the distance.

I groan and shut the app. Then I scroll through my contacts, pausing at “Dad” and “Mom.” If they were still alive right now, I’d happily submit to their “We’re so disappointed in you” lectures and threats of punishment for the entire ride home. Hell, I’d even suggest that they ground me for the rest of the year.