"I'm leaving you. It's over, you hear me?"
I sit here with my head down, just listening as he rants.
"You were never good enough for me," he continues spitefully. "You're not tough enough to be butch, you're too much of a wimp. You're not butch enough to be a strong-protector kind of lover. But you're not fem enough to be the fem-friend kind of lover, either."
I just stay quiet, listening.
"You're always so pathetic in bed, I can't stand it! You were always so soft and gentle, never hard and passionate like I wanted. A real man would've grabbed me, thrown me on the bed, and made hot, passionate love to me. A real man would've taken me and fucked me so hard the bed was banging against the wall! But no, you always wanted it so slow! You always had to ask me so softly 'Baby, do you want to make love?', 'Baby, do you want to be intimate?', 'Baby, will you give your body to me?' You could never even use the fucking word 'sex'. That's what it's called! But you're too much of a loser to use anything but the most cliche phrases!"
His tone changes, growing softer, but the words still stinging and vicious.
"He's never like that. If he wants to fuck, he asks me 'Wanna fuck?' He says what he means. He doesn't gloss over everything with the romantic crap you do! He's so good in bed it's incredible. He takes me hard and fast and rough, and I love it. He's everything you aren't, he's everything you'll never be! We have so many common interests, we could talk for hours! He could be fem, butch, whatever he wants! Because he's smart, and funny, and sexy, and wonderful. All things you're not!"
I feel tears stinging my eyes. He used to think I was; he used to think I was all of those things, and more. At least, he said he did. Maybe he was lying all along. But I don't think so; I've kept doing all the things he used to love, and he's changed. Or rather, *he* changed him; that other man who my beautiful lover now thinks is so wonderful.
"You're pathetic," he spits. "Don't try to come near me any more; don't try to talk to me, don't try to touch me! We're over. Have a nice life." With that, he spins around and leaves.
I cover my face with my hands, feeling burning tears slide down my cheeks. Just a few days ago, I would've sworn the man who just stormed out of here was the love of my life. Hell, to me, he still is. I love him with all my heart, but he apparently wants nothing more to do with me.
I manage to slowly crawl into bed, tears still pouring down my face. I curl up under the covers, clutching my knees to my chest as I sob. He's gone. My beautiful, wonderful Christian has left me, and for who? His supposed 'best friend', Edge. I guess this explains all the times he went out with Edge, and not me. He was just biding his time, waiting until Edge dumped his current fling and was available. And what makes him think that he won't just be the latest in Edge's long line of lovers? What makes him think he'll be the one to change Edge?
A million lies Edge could have told my beautiful blonde love whirl through my head. Lies and tricks to get him into his bed. So many tiny little things he must have whispered in my lover's ear, convincing him I wasn't what he wanted after all.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself a little. I don't know if Edge lied to him, I don't know if he tricked him. For all I know, they could've been together for years. But I hate that thought. I reject that thought! I have to believe that Edge is just using him; he'll use him for as long as he finds him amusing, then dump him like yesterday's fashion. That's what I believe; that's what I want to believe, more than anything. And I promise myself, right here, right now, that I'll be there to pick up the pieces. I, Kurt Angle, will have my beautiful Christian as mine again.
THE END