Bathing suit. Check. Extra pairs of jeans. Check. Hair brush. Check. Broken heart? Check. Check. Check.
Victoria, what will this accomplish? Nothing. Well maybe something. No nothing. Where are you even going? I don't know. You must have some idea. I don't know. Yes you do. No I don't. Aren't you going to talk to him first? No. Talk to anyone? No. Never? Maybe. You have to let someone know where you are. No I don't. Yes you do. GET OUT OF MY HEAD.
Am I going crazy? Am I just stuck inside my own head arguing. Maybe where I'm going should be a freaking mental hospital. Hello my name is Victoria and I have violent internal conflicts. Yes. No wonder I'm not telling everyone, I don't want them to think I'm crazy, but…am I crazy? No.
I have every single right to be leaving. Actually he should be the one leaving. Why do I contradict myself all the freaking time now?
It's been four long months since the first time I saw him with that tramp. Her. The slut that turned me into a loony. Actually it's him who did this too me. She could be a very nice girl, I wouldn't know. I've never actually sat down and talked to her. I've stood 4 feet away and yelled insults at her, as she looked deeply ashamed. Maybe she's sorry for the weight she put on my shoulders.
He's definitely not sorry though. No…he thinks that I should have known that our relationship was falling apart. Maybe I'm the one who should've known better, maybe he's right. Or maybe he's just a cold hearted bastard who's turned me into a self doubting woman.
I like the latter option. So why am I leaving, why not him? Why isn't he the one packing his bags in the dark of night? Why isn't he feeling like me? Why is it that every single thing I pack is reminding me of him? This dress, oh yes, this dress. I remember wearing it the day I met him. Oh and these blue flip flops, when we went to the beach once, he buried them in the sand while I was tanning and claimed not to know where they were. He then confessed and pulled them out, covered in sand.
And then there's the ring. The ring I've been avoiding looking at since he brought me that nice little reality check. Rings equal committed relationship eh? Uh obviously not.
So, what was it then? He said those scary fatal words. "Will you marry me?" And I said the even scary word. "Yes."
YES?! Why on earth did I say that? Because you thought he loved you. He did, didn't he? Maybe did is just the key word. Did. Now he's just sleeping with that whore, and probably hasn't second thought this whole freaking thing.
Now, I'm running away. Escaping at midnight probably isn't too terribly smart, especially when no one knows where I am. I mean they're all going to wake up in the morning to find my bed completely empty and freak out. I wonder if they'd even care enough to call the police. "Umm Hello yes, I'd like to report a missing person, oh..hold on can I call you back my turkey's burning!" That sounds just right.