She said she was moving on. As she sat there, her fingers softly tapping away, she's trying to find some way to tell you gently that she didn't love you anymore, and that it would take her a long time to heal over this.
Of course, you with your squeaky-clean voice and your carefully popped collar don't know what to do about it. You're flabbergasted because this was something you've never done before. She was the first one; rather, you thought she was the one, and what about all those nights you two spent talking to each other on the phone or passing notes by the hallway? Didn't that count for something?
But why? you ask her, and there's no reply for a long time, and you begin to worry and sweat and wonder if she was purposefully trying to ignore the question. When you had said that she was the first one, you had been telling the truth and only the truth. Couldn't she see how much she meant to you? You had an image to preserve, a façade to put up with everyone else, but with her, you could be yourself again. You could indulge in all the mindless fantasies that society wouldn't let you have daily because you knew that she wouldn't judge you for it. So what was the problem now?
Are you there?
What's wrong? Just tell me what I did, and I'm sure I can fix it.
I don't want to lose you.
And finally, you can see that she's recognizing you again. It's like you can see her head turning around to acknowledge you, and you hold your breath. Maybe she was recanting her words. Perhaps it was her twin sister, who has admittedly made it very hellish for the two of you this past week. But relationships always suffer at the beginning; it's what separates the good ones from the better ones. Rough ocean for smoother waves later, as you always say while waiting for her to answer. And finally, she does:
azngrl203820302: ur a pansy
azngrl203820302: i dunno how u can fix that lol
azngrl203820302: oh ya n i found sum1 else, to
azngrl203820302: alissa introduced me to him
azngrl203820302: hes a 9TH GRADER!!!!!!
Oh, how that last sentence made you cry. Who in his right mind would compete with a ninth grader? Choking back a sob, you tell her, Suck my dick, bitch and log off.
At least you managed to salvage a bit of your dignity.
A/N: Um. Haha, I felt like writing a story about eighth grade drama. SO THERE. Most of my misspelled words actually came from that online snippet, lolol.