Here is a window, or maybe a vent, with bars on it.
"Holy shit! He's a player. I've never thought of him that way before, but now it makes sense. I've always thought of him as a dorky, funny guy, but that's his game... Even in high school," she said and took a drink. I had already figured it out, the hard way, and took a drink myself. I'd actually just texted him as much. I had accepted my responsibility in having been played, but also, in a fit of bitchiness, gave him props for believability. Props 2 u, I had ended it.
And so it was done then. No more false hope, no chances, no more "maybe he just"...Or giving him more time to work his shit out. For all I knew, he didn't really have anything to work out. It was just his schtick, or part of his game. It was how he played the ladies...And judging from my reaction to him, it worked. I've always been a sucker for the victim routine. Tell me your sad story and I will empathize and try to help you.
I'm getting better. I'm recognizing it sooner and moving on...Eventually. It's why I texted him that last time. I didn't want any loose ends for him to work or unlocked doors for him to try and open. I also wanted to let him know I was on to him. There would never be another opportunity for him to assure me he wasn't trying to mack, and then do just that.
Aren't I the one who's always saying it's okay to make mistakes, as long as you learn from them? So, I'm learning, (very slowly, maybe) and trying to be better about ending things, instead of leaving them open, just in case someone gets their shit together. Maybe I should text myself too. Props 2 me.