You really thought you had something with her.

This is the first time a woman hadn’t ignored you in years.

And then she did exactly that. Why else would you find yourself refreshing her page, googling her only to spend an inappropriate amount of time scanning through her college volleyball stats? How did you let it get this far? You swear you’re normal and yet… here you are scrolling through her Tumblr from 2014. Before you knew it your work alarm blared offensively, mocking you for the time you spent yearning, aching, and searching for more of this woman.

It’s not like you wanted to go full Joe from You mode. You’re perfectly capable of healthy, human relationships, and yet it’s been years since you’ve put your dick in anybody. You’re so touch-starved it’s actually pathetic. You have a pillow you hump just for the occasional, existential crisis—the idea of you being forever alone only proving itself to be true with every waking moment of your sad life. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t sick of your own shit. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t used to being alone, comfortable with the lack of interaction at this point.

The saddest part is? You actually used to get girls, didn’t even really have to try and they would crush on you, but whatever boyish charm you had that got you by in college dwindled completely. You’re just another guy with a receding hairline, outdated shoes and no game, whatsoever. Why would she ever choose you? You might be funny, you might be smart, you might be gainfully employed… but she’s HER. She’s so far out of your league you wouldn’t even take offense to her spitting in response to your sad little Hello’s, your sad little memes you send in an attempt to kindle conversation. Anything would be better than her leaving you on read.

But that’s exactly what she did: she even left the read receipts on so you knew exactly when she decided you were too much of a loser to respond to. She’s not overtly cruel, she didn’t tell you what she was doing, but her silence, her lack of social media presence, and the time it all took place was pregnant with the possibility of her getting fucked over a stool right now.

It’s only stalking if they block you. Which they clearly did not. In fact, HE went so far as to add you. You had a feeling she was seeing someone, a man she tagged in a latte pic on a singular occasion, but you knew in your bones this was the man she was feening for. You made a fake account, pretending to be someone he went to school with but never got close to, and hit request. There’s a specific archetype of pseudo-alpha males who would do anything to beef up their following, to look like people actually give a shit about them. And you’re supposed to be the pathetic one?

Once unlocked, you found yourself scrolling and scrolling. Scrolling way past the point of her even meeting him. We’re talking half a decade old, Valencia-tinted IG posts of his old soccer team and his freshman year frat rush. Photos of him shirtless at the beach. You were completely inundated, willfully stuck, electively addicted to anything to do with this woman, and here you were ogling this random ass man. Down so fucking bad.

You tried to leave his story posts untouched as long as you could for fear of what you might see, as the universe has never really ever proved itself merciful to you. Who’s fault is that? You’re you, after all. You were never one to have much of a backbone or the willpower to be anything but a little bitch. You toyed with the idea of not opening it, waiting a bit, even leveraging your self worth on whether or not you would open it—but you could only stay good for so long. Stupid, stupid man. Instant regret. You clicked through what seemed like a thousand Spotify posts of his trash ass music (who the hell seriously listens to Juice Wrld??), until finally, finally you were graced with a photo of the happenings of this stupid man’s night, her face a vision so beautiful it would give even Giovanni Strava a run for his money. This man only had to post a single, innocuous photo of her to ruin your whole day, maybe your whole life. The fact that you weren’t him, the fact that he was such a tasteless idiot and yet he got to immortalize her beauty forever—it was just so, so unfair. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to be him or throw him into a river. Maybe both.

It’s not as if they’d be so crass to post her actually sucking his dick. She’d never go for that. While he might be a bag of human flesh, she has grace and class. And yet you knew he was piping the shit out of her all night. Making her say and scream things you’d only ever heard in your dreams. Falling asleep with his cum inside of her. It made you burn inside, with rage yes, but also with longing. The unquenchable thirst to pound her rang through your body even though you knew full well that would never be you. You might think you’re better than him but you’re still the one she chose to leave on read, still the one she chose to forget about. It consumed your world, and if you were any semblance of self-aware you’d be talking to your therapist about this for weeks. But you’re not. You’re you. So while she’ll never give it a second thought, you’ll think about the time she left you on read to suck another man’s dick, for life.