Miss Cherry Red

Motherhood. Love. Life. And everything in between


I’m starting to think Doctor Foster might in some way be my spirit animal.

There’s been quite a bit of debate among my girlfriends and I about whether her behaviour in Season 2 was justified or if she was legitimately just fucking nuts.

I’m not saying she was right to do some of the things she did, but I can understand why she did them.

Now, bear with me.

The not used as often as it should be rational part of me says that when Dick Face Simon came back to town she should have just ignored him.  Been the bigger person and left him be.

But on the flip side I can see 100% how his return activated her Psycho Switch.

At the end of Season 1 she’d played him like a fiddle and he ended up doing a bunk to London with his Piece On The Side.  Boom!! She’s won we all thought!

Between you and me, I wasn’t convinced she ever really had closure.  Sure, to the outside world she looked like she’d handled it well – but did she?  I always thought she buried a lot of what she actually felt so his reappearance made all the feelings she’d ignored erupt like a fucking volcano!

Which brings me to now.

Until I wrote the post about the dickhead with The Fiancee I hadn’t thought about him in a long time.  I spent a few days after The Telephone Call From Hell hoping she’d thrown his shit out and dumped his sorry ass and decided to chalk the whole situation up to a shitty fucking experience.

And then last night happened.

Match.com has this wonderful way of notifying you every time someone looks at your profile.  I haven’t been online in a few days but figured I’d give it a quick check.

WHAT. FRESH. FUCKING. HELL.

Guess who was there in my list of ‘people who have viewed you’.

Him.

MP.

There he was in all his lying, slimy, sack of shit glory.

Don’t click his profile and see what it says he’ll know you’ve done it. 

All rationale went out of the window and I clicked his picture more aggressively than I meant to.  Seeing his face again flipped my Psycho Switch from off to on.

He hadn’t changed anything.  Same photos as before.  Same bullshit blurb as before.  Same everything as before.  Same, same, same.

Take a million screenshots just in case you need them down the line as further proof he’s a fucking asshole.

I genuinely didn’t care that he’d get the same notification I had.  That I’d looked at his profile.  Fuck it, maybe I wanted him to know that I knew he was back online.

I opened WhatsApp and messaged our group chat with what had happened.  Ammi was quite insistent that I shouldn’t message him but did ask if I’d kept L’s number – she wondered if it would be worth telling her he’s back online in case she’d been a fucking idiot and taken him back she hadn’t left – but I deleted the numbers I had a few weeks after everything happened.

The general consensus was that I shouldn’t make any contact in anger even though he had behaved like a complete and utter fucking asshole first time round.  Both suggested I sleep on it and see how I feel.

Well, I’ve slept on it.

And I’m still fucking fuming.

How dare he look at my profile.  I haven’t changed that much since the last time we saw each other so he had no need of poking about – unless his intention was to alert me to his presence in which case well fucking done sunshine.  I see you.

Not only do I see you, but I’ve got some things to say.

You are a selfish, spineless, lying, manipulative fucking waste of space.

Did what you were doing and the impact it would have on not one, not two but five people make you at any point think ‘You know what, this is probably going to make me look a cunt, so I shouldn’t do it?!’  No it fucking didn’t. It can’t have done.

You have a seven year old daughter.  You are the single most important male role model in her life and you should be the example of what she looks for in someone when she’s old enough.  Not fucking romping your way round the country by being a lying fucking scumbag.  Someone who gains a persons trust only to destroy it when you’re done or bored or found out.

Your fiancee had a nine year old daughter for fuck sake.  Not only did you cheat on L but you took the trust that little girl placed in you and you pissed it up the wall along with everything else.

And then there was me.

Don’t get me wrong, in hindsight I’m not naive enough to think I was the first and we all know I wont be the last – but let me ask you – have you ever had to tell another person that their someone, the person they loved more than anything was cheating on them?  Have you ever heard the sound of someones heart breaking on the phone?  Have you?

I have.

When she called me that Sunday I heard her entire world crumble.  I heard her heart break.  I heard the clogs in her brain turning while she tried to process what she’d been told and I heard her try and work out what she should do, what she’d have to tell her daughter; a girl who’d been in your life for seven fucking years you selfish prick.

I apologised over and over and over again.  I justified my behaviour.  I promised her I wasn’t some whore who’d knowingly got involved with a man who wasn’t available.

I felt dirty.

I felt violated.

I felt disgusting.

You made me feel those things.  You were responsible for the resulting clusterfuck after that call.

You.

Not L.  Not me.

And all because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.

If you’re back online because you are genuinely in a position where you can pursue someone then fine.  I suspect you aren’t though given you’ve hidden your photos now knowing I’ve seen you.

What are you hiding?  Or are you worried I might contact you and call you out on your bullshit?

Well don’t worry, I wont.

You’re not worthy of breathing the same air as me let alone be given any more space in my brain.

I will never, ever have anything to do with you again.  I will never write or speak of you again.

You no longer exist in my world.

Now, to quote Rachel from friends ‘that my friend is what they call closure’

Categories: life

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