Day 3: The two-timing slut-bitch

I was sitting in the police station, sobbing as I explained to the police officer why I was hiding near the drain near your house.

I thought you were kidding when you said you preferred more mature guys, you bitch.

I thought you were kidding when you kept talking about the spunky lawyers in the firm you interned at. How they spoke well, how they dressed well, how they were well travelled. And how one of them had that fancy Maserati we had seen on the road before.

Good thing I found out when I waited for you to come home from the 'girls' night out' you went out on. I would've leapt in a flying rage at the two of you as you kissed goodnight, but I my mind started plotting slow revenge instead.

So slow, an hour must've passed before your neighbours called the police, who came round in five minutes and hauled me away.

Good thing the cops were kind enough to hear me out, and they laughed at me only a little before they drove me home in a cop car.

I wasn't charged, and I promised them I wouldn't ever go near your house ever again because you were a no-good two-timing slut-bitch. And no-good two-timing slut-bitches get their comeuppance in due time.

You got real fat and ugly and married your cousin, last I heard.