Having met you was a bad luck. Knowing you was a mistake.
Having been with you was an equal match to insanity…even for a while.
Yes, they all say I’d made that mistake when I was with you. They said I was vulnerable after my last heartbreak, that I couldn’t even think clearly. Hmm, what should I call you, then? A prick? A predator to all women?
A thrill-seeker? Ah, how lucky you were, a man who found me irresistible. A man who had had the nerve to kiss me that night, even on a first date.
A man who had brought me to his bedroom after dinner, right there and then. The one who had given me a daft idea called ‘role-playing’:
“We could be anybody we want to be for tonight.”
I smiled. Yeah, so I decided to play along with you that night. We could be two lonely souls looking for a temporary ‘release’. To hell with morals! I’m sick of being trapped by it, while you men can be free doing “whatever” you like and with “whomever” you like.
Perhaps to you it was just the same. It was just a boredom killer for a free-spirited adventurer.
Then, what about me?
Ah, I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. All I know then was just how typical you were. I’m sure there are a lot of men like you out there. Yeah, even when they’d give me the same old, cheesy argument, only so that I wouldn’t be too bitter and look sourly at love and the rest of the world with:
“Not all men…”
Heh, perhaps it’s true. Not all, but still way too many, right? Just like you, for example. Free, careless. You always wanted to do all without rules or safety precautions. So bloody typical.
At least you’d never pretended to be all kind and dignified, just like those who demand a virgin at their wedding aisle, while they can do whatever the hell they like.
That morning, you were still asleep in your hotel bed. The night before, you’d told me that you were used to waking up late, probably around two p.m.
I quickly got dressed. Then I quietly exited your room and escaped through the fire escape in that building. No kisses, unlike the night before.
No goodbyes. No need to, for we both knew. We wouldn’t be seeing each other again after that night. Perhaps you’ll call me. Maybe I don’t want you to. There’s no use to me.
Only one thing that you still don’t know…or perhaps won’t give a damn. That night, I gave you a present from my ex-husband. Perhaps you’ve got it too already or perhaps a lot more than that.
No worries. We could’ve traded poison, killing each other in silence. No need to talk about it. Both of us had enjoyed that night anyway.
I hope you’ll enjoy that forsaken gift from my ex-husband, who had also gotten it from only-God-knows-whom out there. The gift which is now and forever inside of my body, which had also killed the unborn baby that he and I had once made.
That gift I’d never asked was a token of his appreciation…for this once loyal, obedient, and more often, stay-at-home wife…
(Jakarta, 12/11/2017 – 7:30 am – written for Jakarta’s Couchsurfing Writers’ Club Weekly Writing Challenge on 16/11/2017 at Caribou Coffee, Sarinah – Thamrin, Central Jakarta. Topic: “polyamorous”.)

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