She Left Me

How could the bitch leave me?

I’ve stuck with her through thick and thin. I let her dress me, I let her talk down to me, I let her walk all over me, and now all she can do is walk away from me. In the mall, of all places. Everyone is staring at me; I’m so humiliated.

Y’know, when we first met I wasn’t all that sure of her. She was loud and clumsy, unbelievably clingy and – to be brutally honest – she always looked a little grubby around the edges. Eventually, though, her faults kind of became endearing. It was cute how she was always stumbling over her feet and I grew used to her wanting me by her side all the time. Even her clinginess grew on me; she had a way of making me feel like the most precious thing in the world. Which is why it’s unbelievable that she’s gone and fucking left me.

I suppose I could just move on, get over her, find someone else. Trouble is, you never really know what you’re in for with a new girl. The old one had her faults – I hated how much she demanded her mum hang out with us – but at least she was familiar. I knew how to handle her and I learned how to put up with her bad traits. Plus, she liked my hair long, and I was always relieved to know that she wouldn’t make we walk around with an atrocious buzz cut like I knew so many other girls would.

She had great taste in clothes, too. When she picked out my outfits I could trust her completely; she had an eye for colour and never clashed ugly patterns. And the house? Wow. Huge. And beautifully decorated. Plus, I’m sure I overheard a conversation she had with her mum about a new car coming my way.

That’s why her leaving me feels so out of the blue; we seemed to have plans for the future. We were for keeps. I’d heard rumours about her – that she got bored easily and would soon switch me out with someone new – but I thought we were past that uncertain stage. We’d been inseparable for 10 months, which is far longer than all the other suckers.

Maybe she’ll give us another shot. I’d go back to her in a heartbeat. I don’t want to end up on the scrapheap.

“Barbie!”

She’s here! I knew she’d come back. I should never have doubted her.

Ew, sticky hands. Someone’s been eating chocolate cake. Oh, God, please put me down.


This post was inspired by prompt no. 260 from ThinkWritten.com.

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Author: Ellie Scott

Ellie Scott is a freelance copywriter and fiction writer from Sheffield, UK. She writes speculative and silly short stories and flash fiction. She has published two short story collections - 'Merry Bloody Christmas' and 'Come What May Day'. In 2018 she was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize Short Story Competition. She can often be found loitering on Twitter (@itsemscott), Instagram (@tinysillystories) and Medium (@elliemaryscott).

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