I love to write

I love to write. Sometimes I take part of a truth, and turn it into a story, sometimes I take things that happened in my own life, and put it into words as a healing exercise. I love to write, but I am so self conscious about it! This is a story I wrote today. Not for any particular reason. Just because.

He stood in the corner sipping cheap beer out of a red party cup. Jealousy burned in his eyes as he watched the girl of his dreams from across the room.

She danced as if she didn’t have a care in the world. And maybe she didn’t. Why would she? She was a beautiful co ed with her life together.

How can I hurt her? He wondered as he tried to drown his anger with the burning alcohol. He watched talk and laugh with the boy that she danced with, and he couldn’t swallow his anger any longer.

He could dance with another girl, but she wouldn’t care. He could leave the party, but she wouldn’t give his absence a second thought. He had introduced her to this lifestyle, to the feeling of freedom, and she had soared, leaving him on the sidelines.

He took one last look, shook his head with distain, turned on his heels, pushed through the crowd of party-goers, and left.

She noticed when he left. She saw the look in his eyes, but she only felt relief that he was gone. She had tried over and over to make the relationship work, but his constant flow of angry words was too much for her. Now, she hoped it was over, she hoped he was gone for good.

He drove home that night, seething. He was so enraged it’s a miracle that he even made it home. His eyes were so clouded with spite that the road blurred in front of him. When he got home, he stormed into the house and immediately sat at the computer. The words of hate, fueled by resentment, that had filled his mind on the long car ride home, spilled through his fingertips onto the keys of his laptop.

Look what you’ve become! An independent woman.
I hope you are happy. She was.
You are trashy on the inside and out. An untruth he wrote, that he hoped would sting.

On and on he went, for hours he searched for the most biting words, knowing that when she read it she would be repentant, and return to him . And then he waited. He waited for her response. The response that would never come.

She saw the message from him in her inbox. She nervously clicked on it, afraid of what she would find. As she read it, tears welled in her eyes as she began to feel the pain of his distasteful words.

Suddenly, a feeling overcame her. Through her tears, she decided he would not control her anymore. She would not succumb to his terrible words. He was a coward, a coward who used his words to hurt her. He hurt her on purpose, and she was done. His hold on her was gone.

She hit delete. She hit delete and never looked back.