I Can't Even Think Of An Appropriate Title

Holy fuck.

The past 24 hours have been an emotional bloody rollercoaster, let me tell you.

I'm going to make this as brief as I can because I am exhausted. I am exhausted from stressing, from crying and from amazing sex. Let us begin.

So I picked up an essay after class yesterday and it had such a terrible mark on it that I cancelled my study date to go home and cry over wine. Wine Time is usually 5pm. Yesterday, it was 3:30pm. No judging. It was needed. Especially since I had been texting LB on my walk back home about the possibilities of my becoming a stripper instead of studying at uni. And once I'd gotten home, I asked him to say something nice to make me feel better. He replied with;

'You are a very pretty girl with a seriously impressive drinking problem?'

I genuinely collapsed on the floor and wailed. The mix of the sudden compliment, the bad mark and the stress of worrying why I was actually at university just got to me. And I cried so hard. Whilst sober. That is such a rare occurrence, I shocked myself and my flatmate when she got home. I am not pretty whilst crying. At all. It's quite horrifying.

Anyway, Sophie and I devised a cunning plan. I would get LB round to collect his jumper. Sophie would open the door looking scary and punk and I would be in my room looking crazy fuckable. I would get him to read the gas meter (it's in a corner of my room where I am pretty sure all the world's spiders reside at some point in their lives) and then I would throw him out with his jumper and yell at him about how I deserved better.

And it nearly worked. Soph looked scary, I looked hot, the gas meter was read and then the issue arose. I didn't bank on him staying. I thought he would leave. He didn't. So I went into the kitchen where Soph and her boyfriend were and panicked. She told me to just tell him that he shouldn't dick me about any more and to get out. So I went back into my room and told him. I told him that I wasn't going to do this any more, that I deserved better and if he was never ever going to be a dick to me again, he could stay. But if he was going to fuck me about, he should leave.

He looked at me and said that, by my standards, he was probably going to be a dick to me again even if he didn't mean to. So I just looked back and said; 'Well you know where the door is' and left to go into the kitchen. Seriously, it was like something out of a film.

I went into the kitchen and stood at the door while tears starting filling my eyes. Two minutes later, I heard our door go and then the front door shut. And I broke down completely. He'd gone.



To be continued..