"See You Later, Hater"

By McQuinn

COPYRIGHT: According to the United States Copyright Office, a copyright is secured automatically when the work is created. I will have the ability (and certainly the desire) to take legal action against anyone who infringes upon the ownership of my work. I am in law school and have friends in high places. When I catch you, and I most definitely will, you will be sorry.

© 2007 McQuinn (FictionPress User ID: 474896)

When he told me he was moving, I wore black.

“You look like a fucking mourner,” he said. “I’m not dying.”

“No, you’re not dying. This is worse.”

“I’m sick and tired of your emo bullshit.”

Glaring at him, I chewed eagerly at the dead skin on my dried lips. Food. (I hadn’t eaten sufficiently in days.) “I’m not emo...I’m meditating.”

“You don’t have one goddamn spiritual bone in your body.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

He sighed. “Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I really hate the sight of you and that I’m so fucking glad I’m moving. I hope I don’t see your ugly face again.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”

“And I want you out of my life forever.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“And I’m the one who told your parents where you kept your pot.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

There was a pause. I had a hiccoughed-sob caught in my throat.

“So do you hate me now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It won’t hurt as much, when I move away.”

“Right.”

“Now take off that dirty-hippy Janis Joplin shirt, and put on something bright.”

“Fine.”

He left my room and slammed the door.

“And take a goddamn shower. You smell like shit!”

When he phoned and told me he was staying wherever he was for college, I cried for days.

“Don’t be such a baby about it.”

“I’m not being a baby. I’m crying out of pure joy.”

“Good, that’s more like it. You still emo?”

“You still a bastard?”

“See, this is why I love it here. I can hear you talk smack over the phone.”

“Just make sure you stay there. There are enough prostitutes loitering in the streets as is.”

“Ha. I like that one. Can I write that down?”

I gripped the phone until my knuckles hurt. “No, you plagiaristic asswipe. That’s mine.”

“You’re always so selfish. I hate you, you know that? I’m glad I couldn’t visit last summer, because I really dislike the mere thought of you.”

“Every time I think of you, I want to vomit.”

“I want to cut out my brain and stab it continually with a jagged knife every time I hear your voice.”

“Then these conversations should occur less frequently, right? If you think your brain’s important, that is.” I pushed the phone against my ear to hear his response.

“Totally.”

“Good. You’re not worth a five-cent phone call.”

“Totally agree,” he said.

“Bye.”

“Bye. And take that stick out of your ass, you bitch.”

I hung up.

When I heard he was engaged, I locked myself in the bathroom and retched after every meal.

“You’re not invited, of course.”

“Great. I’ve got plenty of other shit to do. Time’s precious,” I told him. “So is she sexy?”

“Laura’s fucking hot. We have sex every day, four times a day. And she’s funny, and a lawyer, and her family has old money.”

“You don’t deserve her, you fucking ugly bastard.”

“You can go to hell, bitch.” He paused. “You’re just jealous.”

My eyes widened, and I had to keep my arm from throwing my cell phone against the wall.

What would I say to that, when it was true?

“You...you there?” I heard him ask hesitantly.

“I hope your life together sucks. Congratulations, and never call me again.”

I hung up before he could respond.

When my mom told me his fiancée, Laura, left him at the altar, and that he was moving back into his parents’ house, I laughed.

“I told you never to call me again,” I hissed.

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to enjoy ruining your life when I move back there.”

“I’m going to enjoy ruining yo—.” I stopped when I realized I was smiling. “I hope she broke your heart into a million pieces, and I hope you cry your eyes out every morning until you wish you were dead.”

“I enjoyed the mind-blowing sex while it lasted. When’s the last time you got some?”

“A few hours ago. He’s sleeping next to me, right now. I can smell it on the pillows at night.”

“That’s fucking gross. I bet you he’s gay.”

“Can’t be. He touches me in all the right places. Mmm...” I giggled and half-covered the phone with the palm of my hand. “Stop,” I hissed to my imaginary lover. “Not when I’m on the phone!”

“Yo. I don’t want to hear your flawed, cheap and dirty fucking. You idiot whore. I’m surprised he can survive looking at your butt-ugly face all day.”

“I’m surprised your fiancée took as long as she did to realize what kind of mess she was getting into with you, you fucking asshole.”

“Well, I’m surprised you don’t cry yourself to sleep at night, you worthless piece of shit. You’re a pathetic loser. You probably haven’t done anything with your life since I last saw you, and you probably sit on the couch all day, watching old movies and getting cancerously fat off of the brownies and hotdogs your mom leaves you in the oven. You’re probably a dismal, lifeless cow, aren’t you? With no job, no money, no friends, no life. Right?”

I gasped. “You fucking ass—.”

“You know what else is surprising?”

“You asshole, I hate you so mu—.”

“You know what else is surprising?”

“What, what’s surprising?” I yelled angrily.

“I’m here.”

I froze. “What?”

Someone knocked on my door.

I stared at the wooden pane and hung up the phone. “Who...who is it?” I asked quietly.

“Ob-vi-ous,” he said in a sing-song voice.

I grabbed a pillow and hugged it against my chest. “Come in.”

He walked in, imposing, intimidating, wearing a dress shirt tucked into sleek black slacks. He held a Blackberry in his hand, and wore leather Armani shoes. “Hi,” he said, looking down toward (or was it “at”?) me.

I was wearing a black AC/DC T-shirt and shorts with holes in them. “Hi.”

“You look like you’re frozen in time, Ice Queen.”

“You look like crap, too.”

“You’re such a goddamn liar.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I look hot.”

“Do I have to remind you that you are a guest in my bedroom, and should be treating me with respect?”

“No.”

“Do I have to remind you that you’re an egotistical, narcissistic, self-centered rat’s ass?”

A pause.

“How did we come to this?” he asked.

“What?”

“I hurt you so that you would hate me so that I wouldn’t hurt you when I left. But that seems illogical now.”

“You were a dumb seventeen-year-old.”

“I was also afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of this. This, right here.” He pointed back and forth at himself and me.

“What is the ‘this’ that you’re talking about?”

“We grew apart. Our jabs went from teasing to cutting, and it ruined our friendship.”

“Yeah,” I quietly agreed.

“So I’m here to say goodbye,” he told me. “For real now, and on peaceful terms. I’ll be here for the rest of the summer, but I have to leave come September.”

“Oh.”

He bent over and kissed the top of my head, ruffling my hair afterwards.

“Goodbye,” he said, walking backwards.

“Bye.” My stomach lurched.

He turned around to exit the room

“Hey! Why is it that we kept in touch for so long, if we hated each other so much?” I abruptly asked.

He faced me again. “I don’t think we ever hated each other. We might’ve said stupid, brash things, and we might’ve hurt each other a lot. But I know we never really hated each other.”

“Yeah.” I nodded slowly.

“I could never hate you,” he said, almost as an afterthought. He grinned at me. “I’ll see you around.”

I gave him a toothy smile. “See you later, hater.”

He laughed, walked out of my room and shut the door.

“And please take a damned shower! You’re starting to rot.”

Chuckling, I threw the pillow off my chest, got up, retired my black AC/DC T-shirt, and finally took a shower.

--

Finis