“Do you remember what you said last night?”

“Of course I remember,” she stated with a sarcastic laugh. “I know that I was hammered, but I wasn’t that drunk.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “If you remember, then tell me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to say it again,” she argued. “It was embaressing as hell last time.”

“Forget embarassing,” he prompted. “i was so drunk that I don’t remember exactly what you said so I want you to say it again.”



“I said no.”

He sighed. “Come on,” he pleaded. ‘Tell me.”

“Alright!” she exclaimed, fed up with his whining voice. “I said that I loved you.”


“You heard me,” she snapped. “I love you. You’re an egotistical, arrogant, son of a bitch and I love you. You’re mean and cruel and horrible and I still love you!” she paused and looked at his shocked face. “I hate myself for loving you the way that I do,” she admitted. “I know that we won’t work, and yet I can’t help feeling the way I do, and my relationships won’t move forward because I’m so hung up on you and…”

“Hush,” he soothed as she broke down into tears. “I’m sorry,”

“What have you got to be sorry for?” she asked, trying to keep her tears at bay. “You’re not the one who’s an emotional wreck.”

“No,” he agreed as he pulled her into a comforting hug. “But I’m still sorry for being the cause.”

He knew as well as she did that all she accused him of was true. He was an egotistical, arrogant man who sometimes quite enjoyed being mean and cruel and horrible to people, but he had loved the woman before him at one time and his personality had pushed her away and he had never quite forgiven himself for being such a jerk.

He couldn’t help but remember all the good times that they had had while together. To be sure those expriences had been few and far between but they had been there over the course of their year long relationship and above all it was those happy times that he cherished. He would remember the happy times when he was most in need of cheering up and as his former flame cried into his shoulder, he couldn’t help but wonder if he could change for love.


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Filed under national novel writing month, words per minute, write or die, writing prompt

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