I Might Actually Kill You

When we first met I did not like you. In fact, I hated you because you said something shitty about my sister even though you didn't know you were talking about my sister. You were just being insecure and snarky. I let it go because I was drunk already and I figured it would be bad form to beat you into a bloody pulp. I also wanted another vodka tonic more than I wanted to kick your ass. So I got another vodka tonic and ignored the untrue things you said about my sister. I almost kind of got it, too, because I am sometimes insecure and snarky. I remember thinking about this and wondering if I was self-aware or just drunk, and then a song came on the jukebox that made me collapse into my best friend's waiting arms with laughter. It's some kind of inside joke that I don't remember so I probably was just drunk.

Months later, I still did not like you. But you frequented my favorite place with my favorite people so you got the sort of pass that comes with being friends with one of my friends. I did not engage you in conversation, but I answered when you spoke directly to me. I did not kick your ass and I didn't drink vodka tonics either. You drank lots of something. You were slouched on a pool table and some guy whose face I don't remember had his tongue in the back of your throat. I pulled him off you long enough to ask if you were okay and if you needed a ride home. You yelled that you knew what you were doing so I left you there. The next few times I saw you draped over various furniture at 3 AM I didn't bother to check on you or look at the boy's face.

I still don't like you, even now. Which is weird because I've said out loud that you have grown on me. I guess it is true. You aren't as annoying as I used to think. But you are trashier. And more desperate than I ever could have imagined. It's gross. You're gross. I feel gross when I'm with you in public because I don't want people to associate me with your grossness. I feel like this means something because I had this habit of peeing behind the dumpster at McDonald's at 3 AM for a while. It was like tradition or something. But I outgrew it. I'm still gross, that's not the point. But I'm not like you.

I guess that's why I generally despise your presence. I'm not like you and you are not like me and we find common refuge in the same bar with the same people and that pisses me off to no end. Yes, I am 100% sure there is no end. My dislike for you is a Mobius strip of annoyance and confusion and shame and aggravation.

But, for whatever reason, I tolerate you. I have not kicked your ass like I so often want to do. I have this urge to slam your face through a window, but I know it will never come to that. Mostly because I'm not violent in real life and you wouldn't be worth it even if I were.

I have mostly forgotten the comments you made about my sister. I didn't blink when you left a trail of used hearts (and hopefully condoms) behind you at the bar. I shrug off the feeling of unease that your crooked smile brings. I've learned to tune out your voice. I don't want to vomit anymore when you kiss me on the cheek. I don't even hate you. Mostly because true hatred takes a lot of time and energy and you're not worth that either.

But if you send me another game request on Facebook for Bubble Safari or Toaster Hop or Tampon Bounce or whatever the fucking fuck you are playing, I might actually kill you.