I was jealous. That’s the long and the short of it. I was insanely jealous of this friend of his.
He’d always been very honest with me. I’d known from the beginning they were friends. I’d known from the beginning that before he met me they had been friends with benefits. I knew that they broke it off because she started to develop feelings but he had never felt the same way. They had stopped talking for a little while for her to get over it, but they were friends again. And I knew that. And I couldn’t tell him who he was and wasn’t allowed to hangout with anymore than he could tell me to hang out with.
And I trust him. Don’t get me wrong. I mean, the man once woke me up to beg for forgiveness because he had a dream about a checkout girl at Kroger. He loves me, and he’s loyal to me to a fault. I know nothing is going to happen.
But I see how she smiles at him and I know that they didn’t start talking again because she had gotten over him. I understand, to some extent, that they were friends again because she couldn’t not be his friend. And I know that she wishes me no ill-will, but she wishes I wasn’t there.
So yeah, I’m jealous. I’m jealous of the fact that she got there first. But I guess I just have to find comfort in the fact that I am here to stay–and I’ll be here last.