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We started dating when I was young, just out of high school and in college. You were older. Not a professor, but a nice older man I had met while out at a bar one night. You were 20 years older than me, recently divorced, but so much more interesting than the boring college boys my age.
We had a lot of fun for several months: Fancy dinners, fun nights at the clubs, even just hanging out at your place and watching your old favorite movies and my “old” favorites.
But over time we were just too different. The late nights and the drinking were becoming more than you could handle, and we split, not on the best of terms. It was a pretty nasty fight.
Over the years I’d see the odd post of yours on Facebook. And while your life stayed mostly the same, with a successful job and nice vacations, mine had taken a turn for the worse.
The nights at the clubs led to trying cocaine, which led to an addiction, to my getting kicked out of college, out of my parents house, stripping, knocked up, and now living in this shitty trailer park on the other side of the city.
I was broke, I had no one left in my life to turn to, and I needed money for…well…let’s be honest. When I texted you, asking you to come over, that missed you, I totally was going to ask you for money for groceries for me and my little ones.
But when you searched where I lived and how I looked now, you knew. And you knew you could get back at me…
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- 9 months ago
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