The Other Woman.
I wish I was the one making you laugh.
I watch her from across the room, she is sitting on your thighs, your arms circled around her.
She says something to you and you lean towards her, a smile forms immediately on your face.
I wish I was the one making you smile.
You are a beautiful couple to look at.
A realization that is creating a riot inside of me.
She keeps taking an occasional sip from a bottle she holds with her right hand; it’s the new FRUITYO mango juice.
I know this because she had posted it earlier on her Instagram story which I only watch every hour of every day.
I had gotten the exact drink.
No I’m not a stalker.
I just really love mango juice.
She’s wearing a dress I can’t seem to make out in the dark hall.
I can’t wait for her to post a photo, so I can buy the exact one.
I’m sure it would be something exquisite. Just like her.
There’s a performance taking place on stage but in the dimness of the faculty hall, watching you and her is the performance of my life.
As heartbreaking a performance it is, I could watch you both for hours.
She takes a swig from her bottle and I take a swig from mine, wincing at the taste of mango juice.
I lied. I hate mango juice.
Her eyes suddenly glances lazily around the crowded room, and for a moment, our eyes meet.
For a moment she stares at me and I’m scared she knows.
She knows that I picture you and me together.
She knows that I have 72 of her photos saved in my gallery
She knows that I take her photos to the market looking for the exact hair, the exact top, the exact nails she has on so that I can look more like her.
But then, she looks away and I wonder if I imagined her looking at me.
I wore my braids up for you tonight.
Just the way she does hers.
Did you even notice?
Did you even look my way once?
She stands up and you stand with her and the way you put your arms around her as you guide her out of the theater hall screams of possessiveness.
I swallow painfully.
30 seconds after you leave with her, I make my way outside too but i don’t find you or her.
I don’t even like this stupid play.
I do not like watching performances that do not involve you
Or you with her.
Disappointment settles like heavy lead on my stomach.
I’m about to leave when I hear a noise at the corner of the building.
I should turn back but I don’t.
I walk towards the noise and stop when I see a small burst of light at the bathroom stall, a door is slightly open and that’s when I see you. And her. Kissing.
It feels criminal to be watching it unfold and yet I find myself rooted to the spot.
A zombie Apocalypse could not have willed me out of there.
Her hands are sliding down the length of you and you’re looking at her with such hunger it startles me.
My heart is pumping so loudly I’m almost scared you can hear it and my hands are shaking so bad.
She pulls the gown over her head and it’s the perfect cue to leave but my legs feel like sandpaper.
She grabs you and puts your hands on her.
Her eyes are closed and even from my position I can see her lashes resting on her checks.
Her eyes suddenly open slightly and she stares right at me.
She doesn’t pull away.
There’s something about the way she looks at me that speaks of deliberateness.
Like she wants me to see her. See you.
The she does a thing that unnerves my entire being. She gives me the smallest of smiles and in that moment I know she knows.
A text comes in later that night; it reads
“I knew you would follow”.
