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"Of course I loved him!"
“Of course I loved him,” she said, “you don’t give people you don’t love the power to destroy you.”
And there it was.
Dylan felt their stomach sour. They’d been expecting this, but having it said out loud still hurt. And they absolutely LOATHED the fact that their ex-lover still had this power over them.
Carla motherfucking Courbet.
Little Miss ‘who, HIM? Nah, he’s like a brother to me.’
Little Miss ‘walked straight into HIS arms the day after she and Dylan broke up.’
Little Miss ‘I criticised and mocked my last ex for doing the exact same thing, but expect you to be chill with it.’
Little Miss ‘gave up art school to stay in her small town with HIM.’
Little Miss ‘comes crying to her ex when HE inevitably breaks her heart.’
Carla could go and get fucked.
Well… she couldn’t, actually, that was surely the only reason she’d dared to crawl back into Dylan’s life. Dylan’s extremely happy and Carla-free life.
Shit, back when Dylan and Carla were an item, Dylan still used she/her pronouns. Dylan was still in that whole ‘attempting to drown closeted-genderqueer dysphoria with extreme feminine attire’ phase. God, they cringed as they recalled the bright red lipstick they hid behind daily.
They were absolutely miserable back then.
A perfect toxic mess for the shit-show that was Carla.
Dylan had no idea how they’d once waxed poetry about Carla’s full cheeks and shiny, cropped brunette hair. At the time of their break-up, the girl had dyed her hair pink. Dylan cringed again as they remembered how they’d twirled the dyed strands around their fingers - had gripped them hard enough to make Carla gasp during their intense makeout sessions.
They wondered if Carla had gasped so sweetly for HIM. Did he discover her erogenous zones naturally, or did she have to point them out to him?
Of course, Dylan hadn’t spent long pondering this. Had refused to. And, honestly? If HE had stumbled his way clumsily through the process of pleasuring Carla, they couldn’t care less. When they recalled the sound of her in the throes of passion, now, it made their stomach sour. The Dylan that had been infatuated with Carla was an embarrassment. A mistake. Carla could go and get [consensually] fucked by an entire bar, and Dylan couldn’t care less. Dylan would cheer them on.
Carla’s parents had hated Dylan. And that was before they had come to terms with the fact they were genderqueer. Her parents had hated the seemingly-cis, feminine-presenting person who showed respect for them and their daughter. Dylan had it on good authority that Carla’s parents had then lovingly embraced HIM as their daughter’s new beau soon after the fiery breakup.
And, look, maybe Dylan still got a kick out of meeting their gazes unashamedly and being a genderqueer menace when in the presence of their ex-lover’s parents nowadays. Their horrified faces were all the closure Dylan needed.
“You know what I mean, right? Have you ever loved someone before?”
Carla’s shrill voice pulled Dylan harshly back into the present moment. God, was she STILL talking?
And what the fuck did she mean by ‘have you ever loved someone before’?
Did that mean she’d also been lying when she’d said “I love you” to Dylan? Sure, Dylan had lied, too, but how dare she question the matter! Did she think Dylan was unlovable?
“Has anyone ever destroyed you? Have you ever given anyone that power?”
You know what? Fuck her! Fuck Carla!
“Fuck you, Carla!” Dylan didn’t register the words escaping their mouth until it was too late. They watched Carla’s face crumple as the sour feeling of regret seeped into her stomach.
“I was just asking, Dylan. I didn’t mean to offend you. You could’ve just said you didn’t want to talk about this,” Carla whispered.
That was it. This whispered, innocent statement was what finally broke through the walls Dylan had carefully constructed and maintained since their break up.
“The fuck you were, Carla!” Dylan screamed. “You actively worked to besmirch my name after we broke up! Bitching about me openly at every university first-year social event? Really? I hadn’t even mentioned you - name or crimes - to my acquaintances. And even to my FRIENDS, I just called you the ‘dodged bullet,’ I didn’t get into specifics!” Dylan poked a pointer-finger into the centre of Carla’s chest.
“You know how I found out about your bitching? A friend, who started uni at the same time as me, then swapped degrees and rejoined first-year circles, told me. ‘Hey, do you know a Carla Courbet? Because she’s bad-mouthing you to all the first-years.’ What the fuck, Carla?” Tearing a hand through their cropped hair in agitation, Dylan began to pace.
“I explained why I broke up with you! I thought we were a ticking time bomb! I was starting university, and you were set to move across-state for art school! I wasn’t about to let you throw away your aspirations for me! So we broke up!” Dylan did NOT sob. Shut up.
“And there I am, days later, processing the grief and loss of a relationship I valued, when I find out you’d dried your eyes and walked straight into HIS arms!”
Carla had stopped making eye-contact. She looked guilty. GOOD.
“And, look, I knew you’re bisexual. I respect that 100%, and you know it. But what I couldn’t get over was the HYPOCRISY! When Ava broke up with you and then walked straight into Declan’s arms, you ranted and raved about it for weeks!” Dylan was breathing heavily now.
“You said ‘I don’t get how she did that - just moved on so quickly!’ And, ‘She said he wasn’t a threat! Then she just turns immediately to him? How long did she lie to me?’ And I listened! I sympathised! Imagine my fucking surprise when we break up and you walk straight into HIS arms!”
“So, I don’t think you deserve to know whether I’ve been fucked over by love!” Dylan heaved, “I don’t even know why you thought I would be willing to listen to you grieve over your dead relationship! You know how I actually feel? I’m glad! I’m so fucking happy that you’re feeling this loss deep in your soul. I’m glad you were burnt! I hope it continues! I hope these burn scars linger forever! I hope a future partner makes you grieve by putting you through this entire ordeal again!”
Standing from their seated position, Dylan slung their tote bag over their shoulder. They turned to leave the bustling cafe before turning around to look at Carla one last time.
“For what it’s worth, I could’ve loved you. I don’t. And I didn’t. But I could’ve…” they paused for a breath before spitting, “I’m glad I didn’t give you the power to destroy me. You’re not worth it.”
Dylan kept their eyes determinedly ahead as they entered the street to the sound of the closing cafe door.
© O.M.A
#shortstory #story #fiction #lgbtq #reflection #heartbroken #writco #writcoapp #relationships #lgbt
And there it was.
Dylan felt their stomach sour. They’d been expecting this, but having it said out loud still hurt. And they absolutely LOATHED the fact that their ex-lover still had this power over them.
Carla motherfucking Courbet.
Little Miss ‘who, HIM? Nah, he’s like a brother to me.’
Little Miss ‘walked straight into HIS arms the day after she and Dylan broke up.’
Little Miss ‘I criticised and mocked my last ex for doing the exact same thing, but expect you to be chill with it.’
Little Miss ‘gave up art school to stay in her small town with HIM.’
Little Miss ‘comes crying to her ex when HE inevitably breaks her heart.’
Carla could go and get fucked.
Well… she couldn’t, actually, that was surely the only reason she’d dared to crawl back into Dylan’s life. Dylan’s extremely happy and Carla-free life.
Shit, back when Dylan and Carla were an item, Dylan still used she/her pronouns. Dylan was still in that whole ‘attempting to drown closeted-genderqueer dysphoria with extreme feminine attire’ phase. God, they cringed as they recalled the bright red lipstick they hid behind daily.
They were absolutely miserable back then.
A perfect toxic mess for the shit-show that was Carla.
Dylan had no idea how they’d once waxed poetry about Carla’s full cheeks and shiny, cropped brunette hair. At the time of their break-up, the girl had dyed her hair pink. Dylan cringed again as they remembered how they’d twirled the dyed strands around their fingers - had gripped them hard enough to make Carla gasp during their intense makeout sessions.
They wondered if Carla had gasped so sweetly for HIM. Did he discover her erogenous zones naturally, or did she have to point them out to him?
Of course, Dylan hadn’t spent long pondering this. Had refused to. And, honestly? If HE had stumbled his way clumsily through the process of pleasuring Carla, they couldn’t care less. When they recalled the sound of her in the throes of passion, now, it made their stomach sour. The Dylan that had been infatuated with Carla was an embarrassment. A mistake. Carla could go and get [consensually] fucked by an entire bar, and Dylan couldn’t care less. Dylan would cheer them on.
Carla’s parents had hated Dylan. And that was before they had come to terms with the fact they were genderqueer. Her parents had hated the seemingly-cis, feminine-presenting person who showed respect for them and their daughter. Dylan had it on good authority that Carla’s parents had then lovingly embraced HIM as their daughter’s new beau soon after the fiery breakup.
And, look, maybe Dylan still got a kick out of meeting their gazes unashamedly and being a genderqueer menace when in the presence of their ex-lover’s parents nowadays. Their horrified faces were all the closure Dylan needed.
“You know what I mean, right? Have you ever loved someone before?”
Carla’s shrill voice pulled Dylan harshly back into the present moment. God, was she STILL talking?
And what the fuck did she mean by ‘have you ever loved someone before’?
Did that mean she’d also been lying when she’d said “I love you” to Dylan? Sure, Dylan had lied, too, but how dare she question the matter! Did she think Dylan was unlovable?
“Has anyone ever destroyed you? Have you ever given anyone that power?”
You know what? Fuck her! Fuck Carla!
“Fuck you, Carla!” Dylan didn’t register the words escaping their mouth until it was too late. They watched Carla’s face crumple as the sour feeling of regret seeped into her stomach.
“I was just asking, Dylan. I didn’t mean to offend you. You could’ve just said you didn’t want to talk about this,” Carla whispered.
That was it. This whispered, innocent statement was what finally broke through the walls Dylan had carefully constructed and maintained since their break up.
“The fuck you were, Carla!” Dylan screamed. “You actively worked to besmirch my name after we broke up! Bitching about me openly at every university first-year social event? Really? I hadn’t even mentioned you - name or crimes - to my acquaintances. And even to my FRIENDS, I just called you the ‘dodged bullet,’ I didn’t get into specifics!” Dylan poked a pointer-finger into the centre of Carla’s chest.
“You know how I found out about your bitching? A friend, who started uni at the same time as me, then swapped degrees and rejoined first-year circles, told me. ‘Hey, do you know a Carla Courbet? Because she’s bad-mouthing you to all the first-years.’ What the fuck, Carla?” Tearing a hand through their cropped hair in agitation, Dylan began to pace.
“I explained why I broke up with you! I thought we were a ticking time bomb! I was starting university, and you were set to move across-state for art school! I wasn’t about to let you throw away your aspirations for me! So we broke up!” Dylan did NOT sob. Shut up.
“And there I am, days later, processing the grief and loss of a relationship I valued, when I find out you’d dried your eyes and walked straight into HIS arms!”
Carla had stopped making eye-contact. She looked guilty. GOOD.
“And, look, I knew you’re bisexual. I respect that 100%, and you know it. But what I couldn’t get over was the HYPOCRISY! When Ava broke up with you and then walked straight into Declan’s arms, you ranted and raved about it for weeks!” Dylan was breathing heavily now.
“You said ‘I don’t get how she did that - just moved on so quickly!’ And, ‘She said he wasn’t a threat! Then she just turns immediately to him? How long did she lie to me?’ And I listened! I sympathised! Imagine my fucking surprise when we break up and you walk straight into HIS arms!”
“So, I don’t think you deserve to know whether I’ve been fucked over by love!” Dylan heaved, “I don’t even know why you thought I would be willing to listen to you grieve over your dead relationship! You know how I actually feel? I’m glad! I’m so fucking happy that you’re feeling this loss deep in your soul. I’m glad you were burnt! I hope it continues! I hope these burn scars linger forever! I hope a future partner makes you grieve by putting you through this entire ordeal again!”
Standing from their seated position, Dylan slung their tote bag over their shoulder. They turned to leave the bustling cafe before turning around to look at Carla one last time.
“For what it’s worth, I could’ve loved you. I don’t. And I didn’t. But I could’ve…” they paused for a breath before spitting, “I’m glad I didn’t give you the power to destroy me. You’re not worth it.”
Dylan kept their eyes determinedly ahead as they entered the street to the sound of the closing cafe door.
© O.M.A
#shortstory #story #fiction #lgbtq #reflection #heartbroken #writco #writcoapp #relationships #lgbt
