Maneater

"Believe me, I know you'll go through life vilifying me. Painting me as this malevolent,  evil beast that sat down and plotted your heartbreak for the past 8 months. And you know, I'm actually okay with that. Because we could play your little game a hundred times through, and every single time, I would choose being the villain over your lover."

I almost had to choke the words out, because once the air from them escaped my mouth, it turned his face a lifeless white. His expression was permanently soured, his eyes widened like I had quite literally just stolen his kingdom and poisoned his drink.

The car's darkness encircled us, and it was like every laugh we had shared within the safety of its doors had been vacuum sealed out of the heat vents. I didn't feel remorseful in that moment. Yes, the look of betrayal in his eyes made me want to vomit blood, but I just glared darkly back at him.

It was like we were officially strangers all over again. It was sudden relief, finally. I had bottled up my resentment for so long, I had forgotten what it was like to not be bogged down by guilt and misery. His bottom lip was pouted ever so slightly, and it made me want to push him out of my car with my stilettos, puncturing his heart along the way.

Like always he wanted me to rush back to an apology. To cradle him in my arms and coo him to sleep like his very own mother. Like always he stayed silent and brooded over my cruelty. He just sat there. I couldn't stop the hatred within me from bubbling up and spewing out of my mouth like stomach acid.

"That wasn't an invitation to sit in my car for the rest of the night, get out." Cold. I remember thinking. A calm tone made the words even more sharp and rusted. He let his mouth open slightly and close. Than he slowly, irritatingly, crept out of my car. Still he silently begged for me to take it back, to grab his arm, to whisper sweet nothings into his fucking—grey.

Grey. I tried to fill my mind with the color as I massaged my eye sockets. I didn't watch him go. But the second I heard the door click shut I locked it and threw the car into reverse.

A smile crept on my face as my high beams lit up a sulking figure slugging it's way up to it's quaint little house. Maybe, I really was evil. Or maybe I was just doing what was best for me. I've seen too many movies, read too many books, where the girl that got away was the antagonist.

Why should she be blamed for leaving that piece of shit you call your star? Society taught us all when we were young that we should treasure, no praise, a man that lets his tears fall freely, or exhibits a blink of an emotion other than plain rage.

But truly, I would've rather him just slapped me across the face just now instead of doing what he did. At least then, it'd feel righteous as I ripped his heart out of the space between his ribs, and squeezed out its naive sense of love until all that was left was ghostly flesh.