Not just a bad breakup. I’m talking about a bad breakup.

I mean a plate-throwing, clothes-burning, “get the fuck out of my fucking face I never wanttoseeyouagainyouruinedmyfuckinglife!” breakup. The kind of breakup for which closure can’t possibly exist. The kind of breakup where years of love, laughter, secrets, deepest desires, greatest fears, both broken and fulfilled promises, grand plans, and unrealised hopes are all extinguished so quickly that just the mere thought of that other person causes your stomach to turn in knots. Where the idea of seeing them again makes your fists clench because of how much you fucking hate them… but also because deep down you never got over them.

They’re the person whose Facebook profile you inevitably try to check when you’ve had one too many glasses of whatever alcohol you were drinking that night, only to remember you blocked them months ago (and even if you hadn’t it wouldn’t matter, because they blocked you around the exact same time). They’re the number in your phone that you can’t bring yourself to delete. They’re the person that your mutual friends know never to bring up around you, for fear of immediately turning a happy outing into a volatile and miserable one. They’re the person who’s responsible for the best fuck of your life, and the most fucked-over you’ve ever felt in your life.

There isn’t any kind of recovering from the kind of breakup I’m talking about. It is scar tissue that stays with you for life. It is the kind of breakup that negates your ability to think clearly. It’s the kind of breakup that you know you should leave in the past, and yet you can’t stop your trembling fingers from typing out a text. It’s the kind of breakup where every rational part of your brain tells you not to hit ‘send’, but is promptly shouted down by all the irrational parts.

“Hi. I know it’s been a while. Any chance we can talk?”

You stare at your phone for what feels like days, but in actuality is less than a minute. The last text sent to that number had been 4 months prior; an innocuous “np. Love you x”

You wait, and you wait, and then those 3 dots flash below your message…

Kinks/themes for this prompt: rough sex/hate-fucking, clothed sex, public sex, possibly cheating (not necessary), slice of life.

Limits: bathroom stuff, snuff/gore, underage characters, ageplay, feet, lazy writing.