I am...shaking with the anger. It is like an adrenaline rush, except there is no life-threatening occurrence to stimulate me. It is merely me, a spoonful of ice cream, and hatred that forces me to choke as I try to act normally. It's been months. November, since I last felt such rage. Since I have- as I truly feel- lost my mind in the compulsion that follows. I want to kill him. I want his existence to be wiped from the face of his planet. I want all memories- especially those involving me- to be gone. I want his touch erased from my body. Most of all, I want this past year to be gone- to be a nonentity- to be nothing in my mind but my eleventh grade of high school. I want my virginity.

My voice is unnaturally high, my breath has quickened, and I cannot tear my eyes from the window in which he is reflected. I dare not look at him directly, to do so would be to admit I know him, I recognize him, and I fear in that moment of mutual recognition- for he was looking at me- I would go mad. Some say it's jealousy, it's proof that I am “not over him” - but I am so over him that it's laughable I was ever interested in the dirt I know him as. What he has left me with is a profound sense of bitterness- of rage- of regret. I want what is mine. And there is no way to have it. It has been stolen from me, and as I feel my head pounding with blood, my eyes tearing up in such helpless frustration, I can do nothing.

I am lucky. I have someone who cares. I have a friend I was with- one who could restrain me, who could lend me her phone to call the one most able to fix things. Without her aid, I know I would have broken. I would have done something more to regret- well, to regret by society's standards, for I know that in my heart of hearts, I would never feel remorse at inflicting a shadow of the pain I have borne. It is well deserved. It is necessary, and yet, as I watch him walk out the door, I am struck with the greatest feeling of injustice that I have seen in all my years. Karma be with him, the sorry bastard.