Tess

The moon is the only guiding light for drivers who venture along through the night. Did you know it changes in every state? It has preferences, clinging closer to some more than others. I drive with it as my only direction. As it pulls me along, I cannot help but hope it is stronger than the pull your existence has over me.

My mother asked me to see a therapist because I had demons. She said a guy is no reason to drive myself crazy. But I didn’t drive myself crazy. You did this to me. Dr. Clay agreed that I had demons, and after each session of exploring them, he would go on to explore the demons between my legs. The talks allowed me to vent about you, and the sex allowed me to forget about you, at least for a few minutes. Dr. Clay said I have demons because I’m depressed and gave me pills. But I’m not depressed, I’m angry. I want to hate you, and I want to feel that hate.

Motels along the way have become the home I look forward to, each one different only by the floral print of the bedspread. There's always a diner next door that I stop in for a morning bite before I sleep for the day. I eat whatever I want, unlike meals with you that always turned into a discussion about my weight. "Maybe you had enough." I’m not fat, you’re just an asshole, but I never said that or anything. I would just put the fork down. You trained me so well. Dr. Clay said deep down I know this breakup is for the best, but we both know I would have endured your abuse and manipulation until death.

The sound of the wind is all that can reach me, now. Remember that time I asked you if you ever listen to it, and you said, “It’s a turnoff when women ask stupid questions”. I learned what questions were appropriate to ask and when to ask them. I guess that’s why I like the sound of the wind. It will be as loud as it wants, and it doesn’t stop when people curse it. It keeps blowing and howling. I’ll never be the wind, but if I have a goddamn question, I want to ask it.

Remember the night I met you? It was such a sketchy bar. There were only a handful of people there, and we locked eyes as I walked in. You were sweet then. I was blind. Dr. Clay said I ignored the signs because I crave dysfunction. He said this as he was grunting and thrusting on top of me. That was the last time we had sex. It no longer stopped the thoughts of you. It fueled them. I am paralyzed until I can get you out of my head. This is why I left. This is why I hate you. I gave up everything. You destroyed me. Now, you’re sitting in our apartment with a new woman to destroy. I hope she sees you for what you are sooner than I did. When I learned about her, Dr. Clay implied that I might be homicidal. Crazy right. Me homicidal? It’s ridiculous, laughable. Can you imagine me with a knife holding you hostage? Maybe even torturing you before I go through with the final deed, maybe making you feel every bit of pain and embarrassment that you made me feel, I tell you, laughable. But for both our sakes, it’s probably better that I left. Don’t you think?