(Trigger warning. Bad language, dark thoughts, and slight sexual talk.)
He fucked someone else.
He’s the one who fucking decided to not speak to us for weeks, acts all apologetic when he comes to visit us in the hospital, and then last night he decides to tell Charlotte he’s fucked someone else.
While they’re in the MIDDLE of foreplay.
Fucking classy, right? Motherfucking classy.
I wanted to put my boot through his shitty fucking face. But I didn’t get to control that situation. Since it was a fucking sexual situation, control falls to fucking Charlotte.
So fucking needy in her fucking needs that when he drops that gem of a bombshell, she fucking pauses, stares at him a second while internally WE LOSE OUR FUCKING SHIT.
Then she carries on like nothing fucking happened.
She fucks him not one, but twice after that little gem of information. She tries to justify it by saying she didn’t try hard (yeah right). But that’s not even the fucking point.
Then she needles him. She fucking push, push, pushes the shithead to admit that the cocksucker’s fling of betrayal was shitty. Great fuckwit. I don’t fucking care if it was the shittiest lay you ever had.
You’re still a fuckhead.
He spends half the fucking night trying to say how beautiful, how lovely, how gorgeous we are (stupid fucking V told him about the body image issues and most recent laxative use).
It all fell on fucking deaf ears.
All I can fucking hear in here is how awful we must look for him to go out and find someone else to fuck.
Now I have to fucking deal with a brand new spiral of self-hate after we just dug ourself out from the last one.
Thank you motherfucking shithead of a fuckwit. I’m putting up a fucking banner. We aren’t going fucking back to him. This is it. Charlotte filled her fucking void. She’s done for a couple weeks.
We finally found a fucking doctor who will see us (appointment tomorrow) so we don’t fucking need his medical fucking ability.
The fuckhead can just stay away. Stay the fuck away.
Don’t need these fucking mind games. We already create our own shit.
Hoping the fucking doctor tomorrow can help. And I’ve never fucking hoped on doctors for shit.
Anything to calm them down. Thinking they’re fat and ugly and unfuckable. Jesus.
Charlotte fucked the man twice and he certainly had no issues performing. Ya’ll are fuckable. Chill the fuck out. It’s him that’s unfuckable. I’m sure the low class whore of a bitch he found was like, 400 pounds and had the worse butterface in fucking existence.
I’m with Middi on this front. If meds can help, I’ll allow them.
Especially with the numb fucking hands being the worse they’ve been in awhile this morning. Can barely put the fucking bra on.
So that’s our fucking weekend.
Hope ya’ll are fucking good.