We’ll do it for Spite

We'll Do It For Spite
A Story by Jeremy Glass

I had been living with my recently estranged girlfriend for the past two months. We had broken
up because of “irreconcilable differences.” Really, I was moving a few hours away for work and she
couldn't stand the thought of not seeing me everyday. So we cut it off. Our status had gone from lovers
to roommates. We were obsessed, completely infatuated with each other; not a day went by without a
passionate, detrimental fuck that would leave our bed in ruins. We have tremendous fights, awful things
would be said, and by the end our hearts (and any physical object unfortunate enough to be in our path)
would be in shambles. With her I felt love, and along with that, blood boiling jealousy.
Our relationship ended in tears. She left our apartment and spent days hiding away anywhere
she could be. I took the low path and stayed in our home, refusing to accept she was gone. I grew a
beard, smoked cigarettes, drowned myself in liquor, and wrote angry poetry. We would see each other
every few days; sometimes we would ignore each other and slam the door on the way back out,
sometimes our ugly, stupid sides would take hold and we'd kiss. It was obvious, with both parties, that
we were seeing other people. Neither one of us truly wanted to be without each other, but the thought
of being alone without a body to hold was worse. Combined, we probably slept with the entire city of
Boston; standards were lowered and bad decisions were made.
One day I'm perusing the Internet and I end up on the website designed to infuriate the
disenchanted lover: Facebook. Under her status, “in a relationship” I calmly stood up from my chair,
walked outside, smoked a few cigarettes, shattered the glass door of my lobby, and went back inside.
Days passed without either one of us talking; I went to parties, talked to my friends about how awful
she was, soaked my bones in beer, and grew my beard out further. One night I came home to find her
on our bed, fiddling around on her computer. It was the first time we were alone together in a week, so
I sat next to her. I was dozing when she put away her computer and turned the light off. This was the
first time in a month we had slept next to each other. Every ounce of pain we felt was shared through
our silence, she held my hand and I held it back. I felt the anger course through my body, but it getting
beaten mercilessly by love. I turned to her and grabbed her. There was no hesitation, no “we can't”,
nothing. We kissed. Deep slow kisses and quick angry kisses. Our hands touched every inch of each
other's bodies, every part that had been off-limits for all this time. She grabbed me and pushed me on
my back and got on top of me. We were rough, on the edge of physical assault, and we were cautious,
holding each other as if it was the last time we ever could.
When kissing wasn't enough, I took her face in my hands and said,
“Right now, you and I are going to fuck. You in?”Her hesitation was short, and nothing more than a pleasantry. She pulled my shirt off and began
grinding against me. This was to be the angriest fuck in the history of human relationships. We spent
the entire night with each other. Literally ripping off each other's clothes, finding every possible sexual
position, and covering our bodies in bite marks. Between every moment of true love and care, were true
spite fucks. The kind of fuck where I'd push her little body down into my bed and treat her like she was
a sex doll – an absolutely useless receptacle for my cum.
I'll always remember the moans from the session, she told me I was doing things she had never
had done to her before. I smiled, and asked her if I was the best she ever had. No hesitation, she said I
was. I was a champion – the best lover she'd ever have, surpassing her rebound boyfriend whom she
was currently cheating on. I was Casanova and Darth Vader, the world's greatest lover and a criminal
mastermind, capable of destroying an entire planet filled with millions of innocent people – and every
single one of those people were her boyfriend.
At one point, we passed out, our bodies completely tapped. The next morning was how was it
was: silent, sweet, and sad. She went into the bathroom and prettied herself out, no doubt getting ready
to see her boyfriend. After a bit, she came out and walked towards our door.
“I'll see you later, alright?” She said, avoiding my eyes.
“Ok.” She unlocked the door.
“Hey Daisy.”
“Yeah?” She looked up at me with those big blue eyes.
“Tell Tom I say Hi.” I gave the biggest smirk my lips would allow.
She smirked back, shook her head, and left.
Sure, it was an awful thing of us to do, but don't give me any hell about it, send all further inquiries to
my satisfied penis.

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