My Best Friend's Ex (Edited)

Part 23 (edited)

Prick.

My sorrys are long gone now; forget the regret. I'm a girl without coffee and yummy eggs and with a roommate who is acting like a dick. Beware of what's going to happen next.

I reach for a mug in the cabinet but come up empty. I look over at the sink and see the one I used yesterday morning . . . dirty. Brain is starting to boil.

Honestly. Who only has two fucking mugs?

On the verge of losing it, I slam the cabinet shut with more force than necessary and huff toward the sink. "You should really get more mugs. Two is ridiculous; you're a grown-up, Colby; it's called owning things," I snap at him. And the mature award goes to me, the girl with the morning hair and ragey eyes.

I turn on the faucet and start washing my mug. It's not even a pretty mug. It's your basic white mug with a blue logo on it. Hideous. Where's the Disney Princess mugs? The Boob mugs? The lick-my-dick mugs?

When I turn to fill it up, I catch a glimpse of Colby, his back still toward me, pushing eggs around on his pan. Did he even hear me? Does he even care about dinnerware? Why is he being a giant jerk and not talking?

"You know, it's polite to talk to your roommate." I fill my mug up with coffee and turn toward him. "You're being rude by not even saying good morning." He doesn't say anything, causing my bitch pants to be pulled on one leg at a time. Things are about to go downhill quickly. "Okay, so you're just going to hover over your stupid yummy-tasting eggs and not say anything? That's just fiiiiinnnnne." My arms open wide as I say the word, and I can feel the crazy starting to take over. This is what happens when someone gives me the silent treatment. I lose my shit. "Just stand there in your holey jeans and, and, your, well, you're not wearing boots now, but if you were, just stand there in your stupid holey jeans and boots eating your bacon and jerking yourself off to your morning eggs while drinking out of your one-of-two coffee mugs." I give him the thumbs up, exaggerated of course, really making sure he can see it. "Real cool, Colby. You're sooooo cool. Don't mind me." Walking over to the cabinet, I bump him into the stove as I reach for a granola bar. I hold it up to him, making sure he can see that my Chewy Bar is what I'll be eating for breakfast. "I have my Chewy Bar and, you know what? My Chewy Bar is a better friend than you are; at least it lets me eat him." Eh . . . I pause. Not what I wanted to say. I shake my head. "I don't want to eat you, that would be weird. Shit, forget I said that." To myself I say, "I was on such a roll." Getting back to my rant, I poke Colby in the shoulder, which garners his attention. At last. His face is devoid of any emotion as I continue my mini tirade. I hold up my Chewy Bar and coffee and say, "I'm taking this to my room and, you know what? I'll have a hell of a better time staring at my walls than listening to you heavy breathe over your scrambled eggs. Yeah, you breathe heavy." He doesn't, but it's the only insult I can come up with. "Blow your nose every once in a while, it might stop you from sounding like a barge coming into dock."

Satisfied, I start to leave but then realize I forgot something. I turn to him once more and say, "And for your information, it's polite to keep your condoms in your nightstand, not the medicine cabinet, unless you want me to start tossing my tampons around like fireworks, popping them in your face. Is that what you want, Colby? Tampon fireworks? Because don't test me, I will make it happen. I will make it rain period products." Walking off, I shout, "Feminine hygiene will be your worst nightmare, son!"

I slam my door shut and smile to myself. Job well done.