Mallorie Cheves

United States

I am a junior in high school and an aspiring writer. I love video games, reading, cooking (and eating) , volunteering, playing the guitar, and of course writing! That's all there is to it, really cx

Message from Writer

I would like to receive positive feedback, however constructive criticism, such as redundancy or bad grammar would also be appreciated. I'm very grateful for any reviews, favorites, or follows that I receive, so thank you so much for all of the support, it means a lot! Feel free to comment on anything that stands out to you as well, thanks c:

I Want To Be Free

July 8, 2016

The house was trashed. I came home to a broken bottle of champagne on the kitchen floor and the toaster left in pieces. Our bedroom was dark, but when I turned on the light I saw our closet cleared out. Her clothes were missing, and her shoes didn't clutter the closet floor anymore. Our comforter and pillows were lying haphazardly on the floor. Marcie left a note for me under the picture I keep of her by my bedside, and next to her note was the lipstick Kourtney left when she rushed out. What I feared the most has finally happened to me. 


I cleaned the house today. I cleaned the counters, fluffed our pillows and duvet, and organized our closet. I know you don't care (I never expected you to), but I found her lipstick in the bathroom again. "Dubonnet", it says. You always told me how red lipstick made me look old and prudish, and yet as I write with my left hand and hold "Dubonnet" in my right, I wonder what you tell her when she puts this on. Do you mention how the deep crimson pigment brings out her hazel eyes? Do you compliment her smile and tell her how it "makes the twinkling stars envious"? Of course you do, I'm sure you have that line memorized like the back of your hand. 

Did she make you coffee the next morning? Did you decline and tell her that "spending time with her is like your coffee in the morning"? Did you make our bed and organize your end table; did you flip my picture up again, so you could look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't hold her in your arms that night? 

I went through your phone again. I know you hate it when I do that, but the moment I saw her name illuminate across your screen I couldn't stop myself. You're right, she is absolutely stunning. I only caught but a quick glance at her when she darted out of our room with the sheets covering her body, but the pictures she shows you are beautiful. When I see the messages between you and her - how much you miss her, or how you'll always love her even if you and I are together - I no longer feel angry. I feel envious, and I feel envious because you never miss me and you never will. You never sent me messages when I was out of town saying how you wish you could hold me again. You never tell me that you will do whatever it takes to be with me, and you definitely don't tell your friends that I'm the girl you would never want to let go of. 

But you never let me go. Despite cutting the bond between us with the same knife you used to stab me in the back, it'll take more than a glass of wine and good friends to get over you. It'll take time to recover from what you've done to me - what you've done to us. 

I saw Dubonnet everywhere that night. I saw Dubonnet on her lips and on your chest. I saw Dubonnet on her nails. I saw Dubonnet in her cheeks when her and I made eye-contact. I felt Dubonnet in my body when it took all of the self control in me not to attack you. I bit my lip so hard from resisting the urge to yell, that Dubonnet dripped from the corners of my mouth. 

I can no longer tolerate living here. I refuse to remain quiet and pretend that nothing happened between you and Kourtney. I refuse to get in the way of "true" love. However I do have one last thing I ask of you: Do not look for me. I do not want to get a message from you telling me how much you miss what we used to be. I do not want hear your voice over the phone late at night while she pretends to be asleep in your bed. I do not want to sit beside you and witness you turn over her picture on your end table, so you don't have to be riddled with guilt every time you look into my hazel eyes. Most importantly, I don't ever want you to make her feel how I feel right now. You won't need to check up on me; I'll be fine without you eventually. Please take good care of her. 


And suddenly Dubonnet didn't look as beautiful anymore. 


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