He hadnt seen her in a while. They weren’t together anymore. He missed her. He got drunk one night and wept for his loss. That night he made love to someone else.
‘We’re just good friends’, he told her. He forgot to mention that they were very close, physically as he lied to her on the phone.
‘When are you returning?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think i want to’ he replied. Betraying her was second skin to him. He didnt know how to love just one person. Or not be a whore.
She cried, he didnt need to admit anything, she knew. She knew he was with someone else. She knew who the other woman was. She hated him but she had to be nice. She needed to use him.
She pounded at the mirror in front of her, disappointed in him. Disappointed in herself, for she never really loved him. She wanted him for everything he was not. She wanted him for everything he had, he earned. She was in love with his possessions, to her, his soul and heart were not existent. They didnt match her levels, her thoughts, her ideals.
She was never true to him, she accused him of making her feel insecure. Her angered violence made her see all the wrong she was doing in him. He didnt understand it. She pushed him over the edge. But he didnt fall, it was she who was gone.