I feel like I should explain my previous post; that letter to One Ball I wrote. I actually initially wrote it in anger and then edited so it was more explanatory than vengeful before I gave it to him … which was definitely a good idea.
We did the whole breaking up thing a few days ago and it’s still all raw and weird. We’ve been texting a bit, mostly him asking why I refused to give things a go with him and me telling him – repeatedly – that there’s little point to his constant contact. Things went quiet for a bit and I thought all was well, but I was apparently quite wrong.
I got home from work and prepared to get myself ready to go and see my step-dad for Father’s Day. As I grabbed my keys and went to walk to the front door, however, I heard shouting. The voice was familiar … it was One Ball. I looked out the window and I could see him standing outside my house, on a relatively busy road, shouting and screaming about how much I’d broken his heart.
“How come you can make time for your best friend and not me, your fucking BOYFRIEND?”
“Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt my heart?”
“Why won’t you come out here and talk to me? You said you LOVED me!”
I was beyond mortified. People walking past on the street stopped to stare. One car pulled over so the driver could have a little watch. It was humiliating. I had no choice but to give in to his demands just to stop him from making an ass out of himself … and me.
“Shut up. Go get my things, I’ll pack up yours. Let’s go for a drink. We’ll have a chat,” I said and 15 minutes later, we headed to a local pub. I was the only one in my house at the time and I definitely didn’t want to be alone with him while he was in that state. I wasn’t scared of him. I was just … something. A little taken aback by his loud come-back-to-me approach, that’s for sure. I figured we’d have less of a chance of him causing another scene if we were around other people.
He was so angry with me when we talked. We agreed to give back the stuff we had of each other’s, not that I had that much of his. I’d left some toiletries at his place the last time I visited, so he took great pleasure in chucking a plastic bag full of those at me. He included a few gifts I’d given him too: the underwear and stockings from Valentine’s Day, plus a phone case and some other small bits n’ pieces. It was all stupid and trivial shit, to be honest. It’s stuff I wouldn’t have missed. Giving it back to me (and making it seem as if he had actually had more than he did) was his way of getting face to face with me again.
We parted ways and things were … civil. Definitely not friendly, but definitely not as aggravated as they had been previously. That was until later on that day when I was happily living my life when my mother called me to tell me that One Ball had been angrily texting her and my sister.
“You might want to take him off your Facebook before he starts putting stuff on there. He did say something about it,” my mother warned me, and I did just as she recommended. I unfriended him, blocked him, and spammed him in every place I could think of. And then I emailed him to tell him what I’d done.
“And if you ever contact me or my family again, I’ll start collecting evidence for a harassment charge, okay?” was my parting statement. I’d had enough by then.
Fuck him and his shit.
I tried to play things the nice way.