Day 1; Afternoon; part 3.

The nudist, Judaist bitch couldn't get away from me fast enough.

Storming towards the opened closet, trampling over the mundane carpet flooring layered with his and his clothes, reaching for where I knew would be the easiest weapon he always left standing straight up against the right side of the interior wall. Flinging a tamping bar* out from its' non-impressive-hiding-place. Flailing it about with the ease of an aluminum baseball bat (what can I say, I liked sports as a kid).

"You best be bolting with the speed of ass flatulence... 'cause your horse dick is gonna be ripped off!" I squawked.

"Sadie, please!" The now, bewildered 'dear' Sean belled in protest. "I wasn't doing anything that I didn't think was appropriate." He assumingly added.

Instantly, I manifested the erectness to erupt as that of Mt. Kilimanjaro. "You don't think sticking your dick into my fiancé was inappropriate...where are you from...the backwoods of West Virginia?"

His eyes resizing to just slightly rounder and larger. "He promised me, you two had called it quits." He sympathetically slandered gripping his dangling bits. Suddenly breathing was an even bigger issue than the bare-bucked 'friend' I thought I had in Sean was.

I imagine that the blood could be seen draining from the fair-skin of my face.

This wasn't happening!

I have just stepped into the nastiest eighties horror movie ever to have been filmed. Although, I could have an insaniac frolicking about with some blunt object enticing my offensive reasoning for existing – there is that little bit of relief, not much, but enough to shine a bit of light on this incredulous situation. A situation that is a bit too common now-a-days, which I had hoped – for my own benefit - would never show up to hit me right squarely between the coffee liquor eyes.

I felt my heart quiver, just as I fought my bottom lip from exacting the same displeasing gesture. Willingly ceasing the presumptions, the instantly stinging sensations that were beginning to plague my eyes.

I will not be a 'girl' at this precise moment – perhaps, when I'm perfectly alone with a tub of wonderfully, exuberating ice-cream - but, not now! Then, immediately, I could pristinely hear the voice of my father screeching from ear to ear. He would have taken great pride in knowing how right he had been. The feeling of vomiting crept snake-like up through my esophagus.

My shoulder found that hand caressing it again. Shuddering realization sprung about my mind blatantly. "This isn't about Sean." I growled amongst gritted teeth. Shifting from reach of Kris, blindly re-affirming the grip that I had still deathly held onto with my ole-toy-stick. Suddenly, the irrational madness spiraling up and down my spine, combusted into one huge ball of anger; and that fury had burned Kris's name within it.

The bat made contact with his abdomen, corrupting his 'apologetic' gaze splashed upon his face. Seizing his hands to where a bruise is surely to appear soon enough, he bowled over to one knee.

Lifting his messy bed haired head to meet the glossy caramel of my eyes. No words were exhausted; nothing was necessary needed to be said.

He had tainted all over us, and within these walls (which if could talk, would dispel mostly of our ineptly history) beaten senseless any emotion to keep a hold of any longer than need be. I had been expelled without a concerned thought or care to be filled with any bit of breath he took. I had, literary, stepped into my mom's own shoes as I took in the sight of the room.

The bed laid in disarray, as if Bengal tigers had massively been screwing to their hard-ons content; the bedside table had been the bearer of several brands of colorful lubes, as well, with numerous condoms sprawled out as if they had been purposely fanned out; the floor had been a dumping ground for already used penis-wraps.
The innocence (my own) that once had been first introduce within here, had all but, been flushed down one of these (if not both) guy's throat.

I wasn't of any consideration...a clown of laughable proportions is an accurate dilution of my inner emotional state – I wonder if the circus is looking for someone of epic humiliation; I'm sure many, including family, would pay an abundance to get a glimpse of what an eccentric bearded-lady I had now become.

I felt an erratic sensation of relief. As strange as that may sound, I suppose sub-consciously, I had been hoping for some form of reason to un-hinge myself from him; and if I were to be utterly honest (and abruptly reminiscent of tiny, replicable instances) of how I actually felt throughout our courtship towards our insertion of a relationship.

I should have seen every laminate sign pulsating above his man-scaped face. A 'mo' for sure – or for the better part – half a 'mo.' Whatever the case may be, he at least, should have given some kind of raving speech of how he is 'ensuing' a bit of 'curiosity' towards the same sex. I would've understood – maybe. I would've gave a much more pleasant reaction than the one I am subsequently placed within – which I desperately wanted to get out – and get out as painless as possible.
Of course, is it possible to get out of any emotional scenario without the tiniest of scratches to be felt?

Regardless, the bat now felt like a heavy weighted mallet, for which, required release, as it was given the inclination that my hand was aiding towards a small case of carpal-tunnel. That hand was going to be drastically used tonight – I think I earned a bit of a releasing session – wouldn't you agree? Even if ya didn't, I'm still engaging in a bit twittle-twat.

Dropping the hand rendering the tamping bar; the hard-metaled wood hitting the carpet with a heavy thud. I stepped away from my newly pronounced ex-fiancé.

Prodding the bottom of my eye-lids between my left hands thumb, and the ever revolutionary 'fuck you with a twirling lawn mower' finger, I swiped away any evidence of there being any escaped water leaks; as well as, removing any mascara that had abandoned its' position, and had started to somber down my cheek.

Clearing my throat of any emotional, gravelly debris, preparing myself for a final word, "I'm done with everything." I confided aloud. "I'll even take back the ring that I bought for my own engagement." I added with a stinging tone.

Shifting focus towards the newly pronounced ex-best-friend, I sighed with a disapproving manner. "Of all the people to screw me over, you were the last I ever expected to shove such disloyalty anally." I indigently smiled with purpose, "He's yours now, boo."

And with that sentiment towards the last of what was just minutes ago - my life, I picked up the sturdiest purse I'd ever bought myself; un-hinged the apartment key from the two keys left on my key-chain, flicking his towards the bed (I'm not positive that it even made it to the mattress) as I pranced seemingly-like from the bedroom door, and out into the living room area; only stopping to grab my favorite sitcom on DVDs; whipping open the oak front door, lustfully breathing in the aromatic breeze for which now I could believe had felt like a life-time ago.

I was free of hurt; guilt; resentment –
I was free to be...me.