Nothing's Forever
Nothing's Forever
“Nothing’s forever,” he had said as he broke my heart and my ego into a million tiny pieces. I hated to admit that he was right. The glory days of college had come to a startling end and it seemed everything in my life was following suit. It was time to say goodbye to life as I knew it, but I wasn’t ready.
As I looked around at my dorm, filled with labelled boxes, I realized I didn’t want to go on to bigger and better things like my professors said. I didn’t want to make new friends all over again. Most importantly, I didn’t want to accept the fact that Jake had broken up with me so easily.
He hadn’t been “the one” or anything, but he was a nice guy. I didn’t want to stop seeing him.
I had tried calling him a few times. Or a few dozen times. I left voicemails just in case he was coincidentally busy every time I called. He was never into text messaging but I sent him a handful just in case. I had considered sending a good old-fashioned letter, but I thought that would make me seem creepy.
One day, I just so happened to be in his neighborhood. I thought that out of courtesy I should stop by and say hello. He seemed like the kind of person who would want to stay friends with an ex. Friends visit each other all the time.
I rang his doorbell once, twice, five times. After finally accepting that he just wasn’t in, I collapsed onto his front doorstep and just stared at the passing people. I half expected to see a few couples holding hands mocking me. It’s a good thing I didn’t, otherwise I might have felt compelled to throw dirty looks their way.
Bored by the lack of interesting people strolling outside Jake’s house, I began to contemplate his doormat. It had welcome printed in big black letters. Doormats are probably the most mistreated household object. Their prime use is to be stepped on. As I traced over the letter with my index finger, I felt a bump around the C.
As I reached under, I knew exactly what I would find. The key to my vengeance. As I held it in my hand, the metal cold against my warm skin, I looked around to make sure no one had seen me. The key entered the lock and a smile played on my lips. Last week, I had read all about how to get revenge on an ex-boyfriend in Cosmo. They included taking all his remotes or to fake a pregnancy,
but they seemed just a bit over the top for me. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do in there.
It all seemed strange. Familiar, yet odd. Like the first time I had met my best friend’s twin sister. Nothing seemed different inside, yet everything had changed. My eyes were immediately drawn to the picture frames on the mantle. For some reason, Jake hadn’t taken down the ones I was in. Knowing him, it was probably because he hadn’t time to. If only he put as much effort into his personal life as he put in his studies.
I had to admit that I hadn’t taken his picture out of my wallet either. But at least I wasn’t displaying it in my dorm room. Or wherever I was going to live in now. Wallets are private, therefore my offense wasn’t as serious.
My eyes wandered to his CD collection lying on top of the music player. He was one of those old-fashioned anti-digital music people. As I skimmed the album titles, I could recall his favorite track from each, as well as all the ones he couldn’t stand. I quickly pulled one out and popped it in. Without hesitation, I skipped right to track number 5. He had described it with phrases such as “a loud cacophony that counted on an overused tune” or “the worst song they have ever made, by far.” I had secretly never understood why he hated it so much, but had just nodded and agreed. He was very touchy when it came to music.
Another thing he was touchy about was his leather couch. He had never let me eat while I was sitting on it and the numerous times he had told me not to sit on the armrest sprung to mind. “You’ll deform it” was his explanation. Well, he hadn’t been very gentle with my heart so now I wasn’t going to be very gentle with his sofa.
I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I saw, cheese puffs. I kicked off my shoes and jumped onto his beloved white couch, open bag of chips in hand. The song was at the chorus and I tried my hardest to sing along as I jumped around. I paid extra attention to the armrest, kicking it, hoping to deform it.
In my crazed stupor, I danced over to the mantel and grabbed the picture of us. I made my way to where I knew he kept a box of pictures of him and me and grabbed it too. As soon as I had the bare pictures in my hands, I started ripping them all up and throwing them around like confetti. I danced around the ripped pieces of our relationship.
As soon as the song ended, I realized what a mess I had made. The impeccable white couch was covered in orange dust and the floor was littered with pieces of pictures. I paused the CD and looked around, unsure of what to do next. I wasn’t certain of when he would get back or how I would explain the fray. I briefly considered cleaning it all up, but I quickly reminded myself that I was the victim, not him. It was his turn to suffer.
I headed to the bathroom to clean my orange hands and there, I spotted the small basket he had bought for me to leave my toiletries when I slept over. He couldn’t have them mixed in with his, as if I had some sort of bacteria that could infect him. I rummaged around it. There wasn’t much, but as soon as my eye caught sight of a tube of lipstick, a wicked idea popped into my mind and I couldn’t shake it. It would be my final act of vengeance.
Armed with Jungle Red lipstick, I climbed back up onto his couch. On the wall above it, I hastily drew a heart with an arrow through it and wrote nothing’s forever inside.
As I looked around at my dorm, filled with labelled boxes, I realized I didn’t want to go on to bigger and better things like my professors said. I didn’t want to make new friends all over again. Most importantly, I didn’t want to accept the fact that Jake had broken up with me so easily.
He hadn’t been “the one” or anything, but he was a nice guy. I didn’t want to stop seeing him.
I had tried calling him a few times. Or a few dozen times. I left voicemails just in case he was coincidentally busy every time I called. He was never into text messaging but I sent him a handful just in case. I had considered sending a good old-fashioned letter, but I thought that would make me seem creepy.
One day, I just so happened to be in his neighborhood. I thought that out of courtesy I should stop by and say hello. He seemed like the kind of person who would want to stay friends with an ex. Friends visit each other all the time.
I rang his doorbell once, twice, five times. After finally accepting that he just wasn’t in, I collapsed onto his front doorstep and just stared at the passing people. I half expected to see a few couples holding hands mocking me. It’s a good thing I didn’t, otherwise I might have felt compelled to throw dirty looks their way.
Bored by the lack of interesting people strolling outside Jake’s house, I began to contemplate his doormat. It had welcome printed in big black letters. Doormats are probably the most mistreated household object. Their prime use is to be stepped on. As I traced over the letter with my index finger, I felt a bump around the C.
As I reached under, I knew exactly what I would find. The key to my vengeance. As I held it in my hand, the metal cold against my warm skin, I looked around to make sure no one had seen me. The key entered the lock and a smile played on my lips. Last week, I had read all about how to get revenge on an ex-boyfriend in Cosmo. They included taking all his remotes or to fake a pregnancy,
but they seemed just a bit over the top for me. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do in there.
It all seemed strange. Familiar, yet odd. Like the first time I had met my best friend’s twin sister. Nothing seemed different inside, yet everything had changed. My eyes were immediately drawn to the picture frames on the mantle. For some reason, Jake hadn’t taken down the ones I was in. Knowing him, it was probably because he hadn’t time to. If only he put as much effort into his personal life as he put in his studies.
I had to admit that I hadn’t taken his picture out of my wallet either. But at least I wasn’t displaying it in my dorm room. Or wherever I was going to live in now. Wallets are private, therefore my offense wasn’t as serious.
My eyes wandered to his CD collection lying on top of the music player. He was one of those old-fashioned anti-digital music people. As I skimmed the album titles, I could recall his favorite track from each, as well as all the ones he couldn’t stand. I quickly pulled one out and popped it in. Without hesitation, I skipped right to track number 5. He had described it with phrases such as “a loud cacophony that counted on an overused tune” or “the worst song they have ever made, by far.” I had secretly never understood why he hated it so much, but had just nodded and agreed. He was very touchy when it came to music.
Another thing he was touchy about was his leather couch. He had never let me eat while I was sitting on it and the numerous times he had told me not to sit on the armrest sprung to mind. “You’ll deform it” was his explanation. Well, he hadn’t been very gentle with my heart so now I wasn’t going to be very gentle with his sofa.
I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I saw, cheese puffs. I kicked off my shoes and jumped onto his beloved white couch, open bag of chips in hand. The song was at the chorus and I tried my hardest to sing along as I jumped around. I paid extra attention to the armrest, kicking it, hoping to deform it.
In my crazed stupor, I danced over to the mantel and grabbed the picture of us. I made my way to where I knew he kept a box of pictures of him and me and grabbed it too. As soon as I had the bare pictures in my hands, I started ripping them all up and throwing them around like confetti. I danced around the ripped pieces of our relationship.
As soon as the song ended, I realized what a mess I had made. The impeccable white couch was covered in orange dust and the floor was littered with pieces of pictures. I paused the CD and looked around, unsure of what to do next. I wasn’t certain of when he would get back or how I would explain the fray. I briefly considered cleaning it all up, but I quickly reminded myself that I was the victim, not him. It was his turn to suffer.
I headed to the bathroom to clean my orange hands and there, I spotted the small basket he had bought for me to leave my toiletries when I slept over. He couldn’t have them mixed in with his, as if I had some sort of bacteria that could infect him. I rummaged around it. There wasn’t much, but as soon as my eye caught sight of a tube of lipstick, a wicked idea popped into my mind and I couldn’t shake it. It would be my final act of vengeance.
Armed with Jungle Red lipstick, I climbed back up onto his couch. On the wall above it, I hastily drew a heart with an arrow through it and wrote nothing’s forever inside.