My Ex Has Stopped Talking To Me

Was it something I did? Something I said..? Who knows, fact is, my ex just isn't speaking to me anymore.

My ex had stopped speaking to me.

Finally our back and forth bravado, our cold war of mutually assured destruction, our ongoing odyssey of disagreement had ended. But it still had been something of a journey for us to eventually arrive at this final conclusion.

He'd been a real swine to me, never understanding my sense of humor or how it was meant. Always complaining that I was moody, or wondering what it was exactly that I'd been up to in the hours and sometimes days that I hadn't answered his calls or texts. Sod it, it was as I'd told him; I had a life, and he wasn't the only thing in it. As usual, he'd taken this far too literally and thrown a fit, the stupid drama queen.

I think that of all the qualities I hate most in a potential partner, possessiveness has to be top of the list. I mean, it wasn't as if I didn't have my own areas of grievance to mention. As I'd pointed out to him, what about that night at the club when we'd had another disagreement (I forget what it was over) and he'd buggered off and left me on my own? Cheek of it, to leave me standing there by myself like that. To say nothing of the fact that HE had been driving that night, and so he'd effectively left me stranded at that club. Stranded and without transport. What a b*****d.

The text skirmishes we had really were something else. On and on it would go. Back and forth, to and from etc. Mostly the messages would consist of mindless hatred and swearing that we'd both be too drunk when sending to be able to remember what it all meant. But it goes without saying that HE started it and HE was in the wrong. Not me, never me. Oh please.

Our problems didn't stop there though. No that was the tip of the ice berg, because you see my ex, not content just to abandon me in a public place and insult me via text had taken it a step further. The git had only gone and had a word with my Mum. He was a hair dresser you see (not a very good one) and he happened to work at the shop owned by my Mom. Who is of course a very good hair dresser, not like this chump.  Also I say 'happened' when in fact it's almost entirely down to me that he got that job in the first place. You think my Mum would have wasted her time on such an absurdly ridiculous article if it weren't for his connection to me? Oh no....

Anyway so yeah; he spoke to my mum, spoke to her specifically about ME the dirty gossip. Dressing it up, the way he dresses everything up by the way, in the guise of concern. Telling her that he's worried about me, that he thinks I'm a bit erratic, that he thinks I'm unbalanced. Unbalanced? Me?! I'd like to rip his arms off and drum a tune on his big fat head for saying that about me, and to my Mum as well!

When she'd come home that night and told me, I'd made it clear to her in no uncertain terms that she'd have to let him go. Can't have someone who is slandering ME in her employ can she? I mean! She'd complied with my ruling of course, Mummy dearest knows damn well better than to argue. I'm not one to gloat, I mean I hate smug people don't you? But I will admit that I watched through the shop window from across the street when she'd gone in that morning and told him. Just so I could see the look on his stupid chubby face...  I don't know what reason she gave him, don't care either. He knew that it was me, and even if he didn't as she'd told him, he did when he'd come outside and copped me over the road, happily flicking the 'V''s at his gaumless kisser.

He'd chased me home that day, something I'd enjoyed. I went to the gym regularly you see and he didn't, meaning that being chased by him was about as threatening as being chased by a steam roller. Might hurt you if it caught up to you, but it's never going to, so it's fine. I'd even had time to regularly stop and taunt him, as the sad sack had kept needing to get his breath poor baby. Eventually he'd given up, and after hurling a few nearby pebbles at his panting pathetic frame, I'd sprinted he rest of the way home with a big happy smile.

This little war of our's went on for weeks. He'd slag me off to my friends, I'd slag him off to his, like a sort of way of keeping in touch almost. We always knew that what one of us said would reach the other one. 

Another favorite thing of mine to do was sending joke parcels to his house. It would be a nicely wrapped package, and I'd get a friend to write 'from your secret admirer' on a card attached to it. Priceless. Then inside there'd be something seemingly nice; a cake, a trifle, a pie, you get the picture. But then (and this is the clever part) inside the cake, trifle or pie, I'd make sure that there was a little surprise...

It started off quite tame really; joke spiders, fake turds, scary masks, phony severed hands, that short of thing. Being a truly boring person, he would phone up and tell me off for this, which I found terribly funny. Then he spoke to my mother, again! Turned up at the hair dressers as a 'customer' didn't he? Big mistake.

After that, gloves were off pal. I carried on with the packages, always making sure that their arrivals were far apart enough and their theme different enough that he'd be fooled. Oh yeah that's right; fooled every single time! As you can tell, brain surgeon he is not, rocket scientist he will never be. No, he's an idiot.  Anyway so yeah; the little surprises I used to hide inside the gifts became a little bit more creative now...   A rat, a tarantula, maggots, a REAL t**d, a wasps nest. These were just some of the things I would leave on his doorstep. I'd always make sure after ringing the bell that I was fairly nearby, then I'd get to hear his simply hilarious girly scream! It was so sweet. Something else I took to doing was sprinkling the wrapping the gift came in with itching powder, just to really put a cherry on top of my brilliant achievement.

When the Police turned up at my door it was completely unsurprising and just the sort of pathetic, dramatic reaction I'd expect from him. I was of course prepared, 'breaking down' in front of the rozzers and telling them how he'd harassed me, turned up at my mothers work place and harassed her. That he was a bitter fantasist who made s**t up and wouldn't leave me alone. Mum had backed me up of course, she wouldn't dare not, and besides I was very convincing. Of course they believed it. I win again.

But despite my easy victory, a line had still very much been crossed there. He had sent pigs to my door (technically my mothers door but I rule this gaff trust me) and I couldn't let that pass. No, he'd have to be punished for this. Punished in a pretty permanent sort of way.

The great thing about being what I am, which is a social butterfly, NOT a slag like he says, but a social butterfly, is that you make all kinds of connections. Connections with all kinds of people, and I do mean all kinds of people.  Now connections like this can be a mixed blessing it's true, occasionally they'd land me in hot water. But being the clever b*****d I am, I can always find my way out of it again when needed, it's no problem. In fact the good thing about it is that once you've been exposed to 'trouble' of a certain sort, you can if you're willing do certain things, make use of it. Make it work for you. Taking what was at one time your problem and turning it into someone else's, anyone else's, anyone at all...

The boxes, the firing from his job, the texts and the phone calls, in a sense they'd all been warnings, and he should have listened. They were telling him loud and clear that he shouldn't mess with someone like me, it just wasn't safe for him.

So as I say, now my ex isn't speaking to me, but then, he isn't speaking to anyone anymore...

Author's Note

Thanks for reading, reviews form anyone welcome