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It’s been months but you are for certain now.
You were in denial for weeks. Saying he would never do that, that he was an honest guy with morals, and a man of commitment.
No .
Those thoughts were all thrown out the window. Your speculations were confirmed when you found panties under his bed.
At first it was just small things that got your attention. Whenever you called him he seemed so uninterested. He stopped asking “how was your day” and replaced it with simple words and noises: “yes, mhm, ok, uh-huh.” He stopped adding pictures of you on Instagram. At first you were glad. You never cared for dumb social apps but you still peeked through his account online. Though, he later deleted almost all of his pictures, including the ones with you in them. He insisted that it was just time for new pics, that he was just cleaning it out, but after that he posted none with you. Your hunch only grew as your dates became less frequent and shorter. You both used to stay out for as long as possible before having to part for the night. Now, after dinner and a movie, he wanted to go straight home. He stopped wanting you at his house as much. Ok, sure. It was his house after all. I guy needs his space, but having you over constantly after dating for two years to only once every week or so was pushing everything. And on those few days he did let you over is when you found them.
They were a green color, laced in gold fabric with a pink trim at the sides where the hips would be. In your hands they felt like lead, heavy. Uncomfortable, almost toxic on your skin. But your mind was numb, and you couldn’t even drop them. You examined the underwear a while longer before tossing them back under the bed in disgust. You left the room to find your coat and bag. You could hear him from the bathroom, laughing, probably talking to whoever those vile garments belonged to. You left and went home.
It's been days since then, and you've only thrown up twice. Your mind keeps going back to the nights you spent with him. Even through the months you were skeptical you still fucked. You wanted to believe that everything was all in your head. That it was probably just you imagining everything, and when you would sleep together, it seemed like the only time things were normal. The only time you felt convinced everything was fine. So you let it happen.
Boy, that was stupid.
The hands that would crawl up your body, grab at your hair, tug at your wrist, were doing the the same to the bitch he's seeing.
Does she know?
Is she just as oblivious to this as you were?
Or is she fully aware that the man she meets is in a relationship with someone else?
Are you the side? Is she?
God, why are you calling this girl a bitch? You don't even know her, but your mind is going in circles questioning, and your head is hurting, and your eyes are sore from crying, and your throat burns and- Fuck!
You're going to hurl. You haven't been eating much so all you'll throw up is acid. You take deep breaths. Deep, long breaths. Out and in, out and in. You aren't sure how but you manage not to puke.
You havent texted him or messaged or called since that day. You don't think about how he hasn't even bothered getting in contact with you, but today you'll do it. The foolish part of your brain is still poking at your heart, telling you there's a chance he has a good explanation: for the panties, for the dates, for the phone calls, for everything.
You ignore it, though.
You hold your phone in your hand and hope your prozac does it’s job today. You start to dial; you know his number by heart.
You wait as the rings go on and you’re are close to hanging up before it finally picks up.
"Hey." He sounds cool as can be, but you've known him for too long and it doesn't sound right.
"Hey, baby ." You try to be as loud as possible without it seeming odd. If she's there, you want her to hear.
Oh .
And there it is. It is. A girl's voice, and he's telling her something.
"Yeah.. hey. Do you nee-"
“Say my name.” He's clearly taken back as slight silence comes over.
“Uh, what?”
“I want you to say my name. Tell me you love me.” Your eyes are glossining but you don't let it show in your voice.
“I, uh… yeah, hang o-”
“No! Don’t get up, don’t move, stay where you are. I can hear you if you do.”
“Sol- I mean- what’s wrong? Are.. Are you okay?”
But you can't stop it. The pill is doing nothing and your hands are shaking.
“If no one’s around you, say my name. Tell me you love me.” You hear her voice again, and she sounds concerned. You catch her say, "who is.." but that's all you get from her before Eridan gets back on the phone.
“I- I have to go, okay? I’ll catch you later, yeah?” He’s trying to sound casual.
“If someone’s with you just tell me who.”
“No one, I- just, just.. I’ll see you later, okay.”
He hangs up.
You drop your phone and your your whole body quakes. You probably cracked the screen but that's the least of your worries right now. Few sobs escape you, and your vision becomes blurry. You take a step to the sofa and place a hand on the arm rest. You sit but your body slumps to the side, down to the cushions so that you're laying. You try your best to wipe your eyes of all the tears, but they keep coming, and the lump in your throat is making it hard to breath.
Tomorrow you'll go see him. Make it clear that it's over. That you want nothing to do with him. Maybe you'll even sock him, just for good measure. You'll feel better tomorrow. Right now, though, you're a wreck. You're mad and unstable. If you went to see him now all you'd end up doing is crashing your car. Tomorrow then.
You don't even realize how drained you really are because the next thing you know, you’ve fallen asleep.