one: i’ve got my words; I hope they hurt you. i hope they scar you.

*just so you know, i posted this, but autumn wrote it. i just put it up to get the blog started. i don't want it to look like i wrote this :)*

song: fighting for nothing by meg and dia

To be put simply, my life was over.

At least, that was how it felt at the time.

Walking home the the HSBC arena in the freezing cold February air was not something I enjoyed nor expected, but I figured he was mad. He looked mad, at least- and why shouldn’t he be? If I caught him smooching someone else I’d have castrated him.

If only that were the case.

The thing was, I wasn’t cheating on Ryan and I wasn’t caught cheating on him. I was waiting around for him after the game and his teammate, Drew Stafford, who had just gone through a nasty divorce, stopped by and starting talking to me. We chatted for a bit, then he started flirting with me. I tried to steer clear, but Drew came onto me in a split second and starting kissing me. With my open eyes I saw clear over Drew’s shoulder; Ryan stood there with his mouth open for a second before storming off.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” I sneered after I slapped Drew and ran after Ryan.

He’d have nothing to do with me. I tried to push through the crowd to get to him, but to no avail. Ryan was gone, and so was my ride- he drove home without me. The nerve of that man.

So with frostbitten hands and humiliation on my lips, I pounded my fist on the front door of the home we’d shared for just over a year. After three times of doing this, he finally answered the door. And he looked pissed.

“Oh, you didn’t go home with Staffy?” he asked non-chalantly.

“For the love of god, Ryan, please let me explain.”

Ryan stepped back, “Please do. I’m interested to find out how long you’ve been fucking my teammate.”

I slammed the door behind me, “You honestly think I’d go that low? That I’d even bother with your teammates, let alone cheat on you?”

Ryan shrugged, “I wouldn’t be surprised. We haven’t had the best love life as of late.”

I snorted, “Try as of ever.”

Ryan huffed over to the kitchen and opened the wine cabinet. I followed him swiftly.

“Don’t drink this late, you’ll get a headache.”

“Big deal, I’ve already got four.”

He always knew where to hit me the hardest.

“I told Drew to fuck off after he kissed me,” I said slowly, “And I slapped him.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows as he opened the bottle, “Wow, good show.”

“I’m not having an affair with Drew Stafford,” I stated, “Ryan, I am not.”

Ryan sighed, “Like I said, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

I crossed my arms, “Do you care?”

He said nothing. I took that as a no.

“You’re not exactly romantic anymore,” I mumbled, “If at all.”

Ryan leaned on the counter, “You’re like romancing a pile of ice, anyway.”

I scoffed, “You never would have said that if we hadn’t stopped trying.”

I could tell I hit a nerve, “You’re still pissed that we can’t conceive.”

“Yes Ryan, as a matter of fact, I’m still pissed,” I replied, “I wonder every day that if I had gotten pregnant, that maybe you would have worked up the nerve to finally ask me to marry you. That’s what most people do.”

“So that’s what you want, a marriage? You’re mad because I won’t marry you?”

“I’m mad because you’re afraid of commitment.”

“Really? So that’s why I signed on for five years with the Sabres, then? That’s a commitment.”

“Here we go again with your stupid ass career!” I threw my arms in the air, “It gets in the way of fucking everything. You start caring more about goaltending then bothering with me at all.”

“You just can’t respect that I’m doing well and your so-called graphic business is failing.”

“I’ll tell you what I can’t respect- your decision to cut off love entirely. No sex, no kissing, no affection. Zero. All in the name of the Stanley fucking Cup, that you STILL haven’t won!”

“We made the playoffs, remember? Unless you were too busy looking at Stafford.”

“Oh my god, Ryan...”

“And don’t even mention to me the last time had sex,” Ryan said angrily, “Because I can’t remember the last time we had any!”

I rolled my eyes, “Oh, I know why you can’t remember, Ryan: because you’re all worked up about your ‘career,’ and, ‘oh we can’t do it tonight, it’ll throw off my game!’”

“Sure, make it all my fault.”

“Frankly, it was your fault. You’re the one who told me that I was getting too ‘voluptuous’ for my sexy underwear.”

“Ugh, you’re still going on about that? For the last time, I didn’t call you fat.”

“Well you might as well have.”

We were silent for a moment, still fuming. He glared and me, turning away and looking out the window into the dark suburban street.

“It’s you or me, Anna,” he said quietly, “One of us is going to have to go. I can’t take this anymore.”

I swallowed my tears and pumped out my pride, “Fine then. I’ll leave. You keep your big, ugly million-dollar house. I never liked it anyway.” Before I left the room, I called out to him, “And just so you know, if I were to ever cheat on you, it wouldn’t be with Drew Stafford. I’d pick someone who at least gave a shit about me.”

Within the hour I had my suitcase packed and everything ready to go. I had no idea where I was going or how I’d get there, but one thing was for sure: I had to get out of here. Whatever love was once there was gone.

Taking a victory stance, I stood at the door for the last time and shouted, “Fuck you, Ryan Miller. You’ll never win a Stanley Cup as long as you live.”

No response. Exactly what I needed to hear.