Cheaters = Losers

"I knew you were too good for me."

Any of the buzz I had felt as I skipped into our home fast vanished and was replaced with the sensation of swallowing a litre of iced water. My boyfriend stared back at me like a deer caught in headlights, his stunning hair tousled, gorgeous lips swollen and fantastically toned chest on full display. I just stared, speechless as he rushed to cover the naked girl beneath him with his - our - sheets.
"Babe-"
"Don't 'Babe' me."
"Please, just let me explain,"
"You don't need to. I have eyes, Josh." I didn't snap, in fact, my voice was alarmingly calm, not representative of the rage bubbling in my stomach. My lips were pressed together in a sad smile, exhaling in an emotionless ha "I can't believe I was so stupid." I said, talking more to myself than I was to him. I'd been dating Josh Hutcherson for six months when he'd asked me to move in with him, and being the naive idiot I was, I accepted and sold my tiny flat where I'd been living in London and almost everything in it. All to follow him with nothing but a backpack and a few boxes, to America.

"I gave up my life to be with you. You promised you'd always take care of me." I talked in the same flat tone as I held up my right hand where, on the fourth finger, sat the glistening promise ring he'd bought me two months ago when I moved in.
"Well, fuck that," I said and threw the ring back at him, the tinkling of metal on the floor was enough to prompt them to move. The girl got out, wrapped in the sheets and scampered to the bathroom. She was quite beautiful, not at all slutty like I'd been expecting. The thing that made me feel like I'd been hit by a tonne of bricks was that she looked a lot like me. A prettier version of me, one with all my flaws ironed out.

"Wow, you sure do know how to pick 'em," I muttered. "Give her her clothes," I told him and watched as Josh, wearing nothing but boxers and trying to hide the obvious bulge in them, picked up her clothes and took them through to her. Then he looked back at me, eyes almost pleading.
"Look -"
"Save it, Josh."
"But-"
"We'll talk about it later, okay? Just get dressed, take her home and sort that out." I pointed at his boxers. His ears reddened a little.

I left the apartment, beginning to walk without thinking of where I was going, reflecting on everything that had happened. Would I leave Josh? There was a part of me that wanted to, but I didn't want to be irrational. I did love him, I had for much longer than he has loved me, and I had nowhere else to go. Maybe he had some silly reason, and it was a one off, maybe we'd fix everything, and it would all be okay. I bought a doughnut and coffee from the nearby Starbucks and made my way back. Checking my phone, I realised I'd been out for almost an hour, which was plenty of time for Josh to take Whatsername home and be ready to talk.

When I entered for the second time that evening, he was sat in the living room, he looked up and saw me, his expression brightening a little. I sat down cautiously on the other side of the small den and stared at him. I'd never felt so intimidated in my home. I didn't even feel like it was my home.

"Okay so I've never had one of these conversations before, and I have no idea what I'm doing," I half groaned with my head in my hands. "I don't know; you said you could explain. Go on. Explain." I gestured loosely at him, my face deadpan.
"I don't know what to say, I'm so sorry Lily, I hate myself for it I do, I promise, and I feel so bad for doing that to you, and I promise I won't even look at another woman again." After listening to Josh's little spiel, I understood about as much of the situation as I had before
"That wasn't an explanation." There was this sinking feeling in my stomach that perhaps this thing ran deeper than I was hoping.
"Babe, I'm sorry-"
"I don't doubt that you are. But I want to know why Josh. Why did you do it?" I felt like I was talking to a stranger. Usually, I could read Josh's emotions so well, know what he was thinking. Now I had no idea; I couldn't tell if he truly was sorry or if he was just trying to pacify me. He kept his eyes downcast, and the best answer I could get was a shrug. My calm attitude was rapidly diminishing.
"Dammit, Josh! Why?" He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Do you love her?"
"I love you!"
"But you love her more." Silence. "Right. So I guess that means you've done this more than once? Don't even try to fight me on this, we both know I'm right." He gave me that boyish half-smile. The one that said I'm sorry, please don't get mad. I wasn't mad.

I nodded, ignoring the weight in my chest and furiously blinking away the tears.
"I got us the tickets," I forced the words out against my constricting throat. When we first met, one of the things that Josh and I immediately bonded over was our shared love of the band Green Day. We had spent endless hours together, listening to their albums and watching their live shows, and we had promised each other that we would get tickets to see them live, the second opportunity arose. I shook my head and got up and went to our room, where he'd numerously banged that other girl. Fuck. That was a thought to make me nauseous. I grabbed my backpack; it was one of those massive, one-hundred-and-something-litre ones that I'd bought when I travelled the world a few years ago. It didn't take me long to pack, and there was easily enough room to get in all of my clothes and essentials. With a heavy sigh, I heaved the bag on with a strange sense of familiarity and trudged downstairs, keeping my phone, wallet and headphones in my small handbag. I couldn't think of anything else that I needed. Besides, Josh owned all of the furniture.

When he saw me, he finally stood up. "Where are you going?" I barked a dry laugh.
"So you just admitted that you're in love with another girl-"
"I still love you, too!"
"Don't lie to yourself. And you expect me to stick around? Just because you're famous, Josh doesn't mean I'm going to let you walk all over me. I don't deserve to be treated like that by anyone and neither does she." He looked hurt, but finally, all the rage and pent up emotion was starting to hit me like a brick wall. And it fucking hurt.
"You-you're breaking up with me?"
"No shit." I couldn't help but roll my eyes.
"And you're moving out?"
"Nooo, I'm just taking all my possessions to a concert." My eyes narrowed into a cold look, pointed straight at his chest.
"You're still going!?"
"And I'm not coming back." I opened the door to reveal the bright sunshine. (Only in bloody California, in England pathetic fallacy actually works.)

"Goodbye, Josh. I hope you had the time of your life." I said with a sigh and closed the door.

~~~~~~

It took me forever to get rid of the spare ticket. They'd been expensive, and everyone who I offered it to wanted it at half price and I needed the cash, or they didn't believe it was a genuine ticket. Eventually, much to my frustration, I was approached by a younger girl who was beyond desperate to get in but didn't have enough cash. I ended up just giving her the spare one before she began to cry, which somehow got me scruffed by the neck and marched away. I was told by a security guard double my size that he'd seen what I did and rewarded me with the cash for the ticket and they escorted me in at the front of the line so I got an excellent spot in the mosh pit.

The gig was without a doubt the best thing that, in my twenty-five years of existence, had ever happened to me. I'd been to a lot of gigs, but never a Green Day one despite the fact that they were my favourite band, so naturally I had the last six years of being obsessed with this band riding on the moment. I was not disappointed. The music was mind blowing live, loud and pulsating and throbbing through me and the energy was flowing off of the guys was infectious, charging through the crowd and making me feel more alive than ever. I screamed at the top of my lungs to every song, jumping around and generally moshing without a care in the world, laughing as complete strangers pushed me through the sweaty circle. I wasn't bothered that the band hadn't noticed me, after all, I wasn't expecting them to, and I think I would have been to terrified to get up on the stage anyway. Tré had, however, been quite violently throwing his sticks around all evening and I had managed to get one, or rather the six-foot-something guy behind me had wrestled it off this girl who had jumped me to get to it and handed it back to me with a smile. I has also collected a lot of confetti and bought myself a t-shirt.

After kicking out, I stood on the edge of the pavement and sighed heavily, indecisive as usual. It was lateish, about 11 pm, but I didn't want to settle down yet, my veins still buzzing from the performance and being so close to my heroes. I felt alive, more so than I had in years. There was no way in hell that I was going back to Josh, no matter what that would mean for me in the coming nights.

I decided to go to the local bar, what I'd call a pub had I been back home in England. It wasn't the night club where everyone else was going, the place where you go to get drunk off your ass and then dance it out badly in a mosh pit where you were held up by the sweaty bodies around you. The place where it smells of sweat and booze and sex and the lights are dark purple, and you can't go to the bathroom unless it's to fuck and the music is so loud you can't talk to anyone. This place, O'Malley's, was a lot quieter. They had a long counter where you could sit and drink your troubles away (much as I intended to) as well as booths and small tables around the outside with a dance floor in the middle. There was always music playing and a stage set up for live too. People did dance there, but there was room to move, and you could go pee without having four fucking, and I mean literally fucking couples pressing in on you and most importantly for me: you could order food there and use the free wifi. Perfect.

I made my way across the road and smiled at the familiarity of the old place. O'Malley's smelt like home, of pubs back in England. The smell of wood varnish and lemonade and beer and chips. I heaved myself onto a stool and dropped my bag at my feet, shooting Benjamin, the bartender and owner, a tired smile in reply to the worried glance he was giving me.
"I'm all right, Benj. Just get me the usual with an extra shot please." He compiled as always, giving me my favourite - one of his homemade cocktails. I was never much of an alcoholic, and I don't like the taste of alcohol that much so I had a heavily sweetened mix thing. I didn't know the name of it. He handed me the glass, and I took a long gulp.
"Rough night?" He asked me. I raised my eyebrows.
"You have no idea. Can I get some chips please, too?"
"You're so English," Benj laughed at me. "You do mean fries right?" I gave him a look that said obviously.

"So I heard there was this band in town tonight. Nightlife must be getting a lot of action." He spoke with an air of resignment; Nightlife was the night club and whenever it was busy O'Malleys would be empty.
"Yeah, probably. I went to the gig, though - they were amazing! Oh, ta, Benj, you're a legend." I grinned at him and my mood lifted as he handed me the large plate of chunky cut chips like they do at home. Surprisingly, the place was starting to fill up and so Benj had to go and attend to the other customers, leaving me to eat in peace. It was really getting busy, and it wasn't until I heard a familiar voice a few chairs down from me that I froze. That would explain why it was getting busy.

"Doughnut sprinkles!" Tré Cool was demanding at a bewildered Benj. And I'd recognise the sideburns of the guy giggling and trying to explain to the poor bartender that his friend wanted to snort them any day. I looked down at my chips, a small grin making its way onto my features. No way in hell were two members of the best band in the world in O'Malley's. I'd assumed they'd gone to Nightlife to get some action, which struck me as oddly funny as they had a song with the same name. I scanned the small venue quickly, and my heart sank a little. By the looks of things, Billie Joe Armstrong, Green Day's frontman wasn't with his two best friends. He'd probably gone to Nightlife to get a good fuck or four. I looked down and carried on munching my chips, going through another few heavily sweetened drinks and I was starting to feel the warm buzz of the alcohol in my system, something I hadn't felt in a long time. The place continued to fill up, to the point where it was becoming packed, so I decided to check my phone to stop looking like such a loner. Seventeen messages greeted me, all from Josh. I gave a disgusted snort as I read a few.

I'm so sorry
Bby?
Bby pls
Lil?
Bby pls come home
Lil bby I am so sorry, pls come back
Y don't we just tlk about this a bit more?
Honey honestly it was nthin I swr
I need u

I scowled at my phone. He couldn't even be bothered to text me correctly. I was about to press the delete button when someone startled me,
"Who's been rude enough to put a scowl on that gorgeous face?" I whipped around to put my less than gorgeous fist in the asshole's face: I was not in the mood to be hit on, but when I turned around said asshole's face was a lot closer than anticipated, and it took me a moment to breathe. To think.