Prompt:
I hope your valentines day is looking better than mine is…

Retorts:
I’m not sure how to respond to that.

Meaning what?

Oh, if only you knew.

What, the fuck buddies not working out… not putting out any more?

What, she finally washed her hands of you, too? Good girl.

Seventeen belt notches achieved since you? I’d say the odds are pretty good.

Wouldn’t you like to know.

Please do not speak to me.

No one to blame but yourself if that is, in fact, the case.

Don’t be a martyr.

Because Valentine’s was so precious with me? I don’t recall one spit of romance.

I’ll bet you see that as a caring well meaning reaching out; how funny that is still pretty much all about you.

Hope so.

It would have been the best with you, after all third time’s the charm, right? Oh well. No use crying over rotten spoiled emotionally abusive milk.

Are you asking am I going to get laid? The answer is I could if I wanted but honestly I’m tired from that happening the rest of this week so I was thinking of taking it easy on Vday. Vagina Day, you know.

Go fuck a freshman, you sonofabitch. You’re so good at it, are you not?

Wouldn’t take much, I imagine.

What’s it to you?

Even if it weren’t going to be, I certainly wouldn’t tell you.

(Come to me and it will be as good for the both of us as it could ever be.)

Response:
Utter silence.
Because you only have as much power as I now give you. And I do not wish any satisfaction or closure upon you. After all, someone very important once said to me that he had no obligation to an ex 400 miles away. I hand that back to you, on a gilded platter of disdain. That’s all you’ll be receiving from me for a little while. Welcome to how neglect feels.

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