I’m so over it:
“I’m so over it!” I declared loudly to no one in particular.
“No you’re not!” yelled my housemate from the kitchen.
“Yes, I am,” I said firmly, popping my head around the corner.
I gave her one of my famous, ‘don’t-disagree-with-me,’ looks.
She smirked. “If you were so over it you wouldn’t keep talking about it. Admit it, you like him and the only reason you keep saying you’re over it is because it’s easier than admitting he’s the first guy you’ve liked since…”
I cut her off.
“Don’t even MENTION his name!”
“I wasn’t going to. I was going to refer to him as FuckFace like you always do because he is one.”
My friend was the best. She knew what I’d been through but she still gave me perspective when I was being a bitch.
And I was.
I was being a bitch to this new guy because for the first time in a long while I’d fallen for someone who wasn’t an arsehole.
And I didn’t quite know how I felt about that yet.