
ian ○•○
monicaI knew it was true, but I couldn't bring myself close enough to admit it. Of course it was true. Ian wouldn't lie to me. I thought about that for a moment and gave it a second thought,
Oh right. He did lie to me in the first place. But truthfully, I didn't want to believe that. I knew all in Ian's pockets was a million dollars worth of love that just needed to be spread. I bit my lower lip in thought, as my eyes focused a little better when he touched my shoulder.
"Monica," He said inbetween looking down at his rugged shoes.
"I know it's hard to believe, but-" I had cut him off right then and there. "No, Ian. It's not hard to believe. I knew it all along."
His eyes glanced all around the room as he shifted his weight. I knew this was because he hated staring me right in the eyes; it made him nervous.
"Monica. Please, just... Don't do this. Don't take it the hard way, just... don't make me go down the wrong path with this. It's not you, it-" I had cut him off the second time. It hurt too much to hear it.
"Yeah yeah, i've heart it before.
'It's not you, it's me.' But that's not true," I looked at him with angry and sharp eyes, the fire just barely held in. "People only say that so they get off the hook for breaking up with another. No, Ian. Not this time. Well guess what." He looked around and finally had the courage to look me in the eyes. I could faintly hear him whisper, "What, Monica. What." He didn't sound happy, but I couldn't make that for sure.
"Well this time, Ian. It's not me, it's you."
I stomped out of the house and sheepishly walked back inside, realizing that this was my house. I pointed out the door and stuffed his luggage into his folded hands. "Get out of my house." Sighing, he rolled his eyes sadly and walked out, not shutting the door behind him. The rain drenched the side of just where my door was left open, but when I went to close it I didn't bother to clean it up.
It hurt too much. I couldn't help but think something, something dark, for an unknown reason. Ian had stabbed me in the back, and now I intend to do just that to him. No matter how long it took, I'd ruin his life exactly how he ruined mine. And he wouldn't have a clue.
But I again couldn't help but quietly trample up the stairs, into my room, shut and lock the door behind me. After I did all this, I fell in the corner near my TV stand, where the TV lay on top, the screen black, and I again just
couldn't help but cry.---
part one of the story called, "The Conspiracy of Ian Roue."
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