I Spat In Your Coffee

At around 9 p.m. this evening, I found myself sitting in a Timmie's about a 15 minute walk from my house. My coffee was burnt- I should have taken this as a sign from the gods that I was not meant to be there.

It was when you sat down that I realized, I really can't handle this.
You are twice my size, weighing in 100lbs more than me, and standing at least a foot taller. You also have a year on me, as you are a 12B student. I want to tell you how much I regret meeting you sometimes.

I was even nice enough to buy your broke-ass a coffee. I kept that stupid smile plastered on my face, laughed at your miserable joke, but the truth is eating me up on the inside.
I want to scream it at the top of my lungs.
You, sir, are an asshole.
You have always claimed that since you are a year older, you must be more mature. I question that.
You are still just a boy, so isn't it about time you grew up? Be a man.

When you decided it would be a grand idea to tell me you like me, you were astonished by my response. I have to admit, even I know it wasn't a typical response. It wasn't "I don't like you" or " I like you", it was three simple words: "No you don't."
After a bad breakup from a two year relationship, you were looking for something to cling to- someone to cling to. You decided me. Genius move.
I persuaded you that you were just looking for something that wasn't necessarily there. That you were rebounding, so used to being in a relationship that you were trying to force yourself into one. It was cruel of me, but I believed it was for a good cause.
After that, you said you were okay, but I realized you have gone completely out of your way to make me miserable.

You have damaged my friendships, tried to pick fights with me, made me feel like a worthless piece of shit. Usually, I can survive that, I have before. You did something different though, you always continued to claim you were a nice guy.

Ripping me apart emotionally when I was already in a broken state- that doesn't make you a good guy. It took me until I met some genuinely nice people (you know who you are), for me to finally clue in.

So here I sat, across from you.

I swore I wouldn't say anything, even though you made a big mistake.
Telling your friend that we were fooling around... I haven't even made any affectionate contact with you.
What the hell are you doing? 
Anger burning in my stomach, I sat across from you, drinking my burnt coffee. That smile painted on, misleading and so easy to use.
I promised I wouldn't say anything.
I didn't want to break that promise.
I wanted to scream, to shout, tell you exactly what I think of you-

Instead I sat.

Drinking my shitty, burnt, Tim Horton's coffee, at a table that probably hadn't been wiped all day. Living a miserable lie.
You moved to go to the washroom, leaving your mostly full cup of coffee on the table.

At 9:17, I spat in your coffee.

It was the least I could do.