The last time I felt this physically sick was the night we broke up. Tonight, nearly four months later, I feel it again and it's still because of you.
I walked into the bar last weekend and you were friendly and spoke to me, I thought about it for days, what it might mean. We've spoken on the phone a dozen times this weekend, gone to lunch, made plans to hang out later this week... all of it.
Last night your mother told me she had missed me.
Last night I asked a lifelong friend of yours about you, and about M and about SJ and all of that stuff.
Tonight, having had words with Emily earlier today, and all of my friends begging me to be careful, I asked Emily to tell me everything she had kept from me about you after our break up. Everything you had said and done, but she had kept from me to try and protect me.
She told me how you denied ever being with me, saying I asked you out and then I assumed things, and you were afraid to say anything.
She told me how you made a joke of me to everyone, saying that I was a psycho stalker, that you even did it when I was right there.
She told me how the night of the singing pubs you hit on everyone, including her and once again denied you'd ever been with me when she turned you down.
You say you want to talk this week, so that we can clear the air. You've tried calling me a bunch of times in the last 30 minutes. You just texted me. You sat beside me today at lunch, you bought my lunch, you bought me drinks all afternoon. You have rung me for a chat at least 10 times in the last three days. You just called to say you're on the way up to my house with a friend to hang out. On Friday night you spent the whole night on the phone with me until 6.30 in the morning, talking.
I don't understand you. You're a pig. You're scum. And I don't want you to not be in my life, because when you're good, you're really good.