Holy fuck.
He’d believed her, believed it when she’d insinuated to him that she had escaped from a psychologically abusive man child. He’d felt bad for her, wanted to help heal her heart. And he knew that her ex infant was as despicable, greedy, heretical, sexist, and vulgar as they come. But, o the lies, the irrefutable proof that she made herself into the victim. She had NOT escaped from him. She had made NO effort to leave him at all. He had rid himself of her. This grotesque caricature of an adult male had sent her packing. O the bloody lies.
And why would such a degenerate want to remove her from his life? What had she done? Had she lied about him, as she had lied about others? Had she cheated? That was the guess, the likeliest scenario. A man like that would only ditch her for a limited number of reasons, the top of his possessive list being infidelity. Was that what had ruined her first union? Did the first one get rid of her too? Was she a dirty little cheater, who then cried and made everyone think she was the one wronged? What else could it be, and why did she keep another man from that time so close? Things began to gel.
She’d done it to him, the one who had loved her true. She’d lied, invented whole fairy tales about him. He’d given her the benefit of the doubt, allowing that she had listened to ignorant and base people and followed their ill-found advice. But now it appeared that she had just done it because that’s what she was, a deceitful, cheating little con artist? She flirted mercilessly with every man in her orbit. How had he not seen it? He’d thought she had been victimized, traumatized, and he had felt for her, wanting to show her what love really was. He’d fallen for a con. With the truth made clear, it became apparent that hers was the exact behavior of a cheater, a woman so in need of attention that she would take it from anyone. And, the way she had lied about him, completely revised history to suit her revenge, fit the pattern. She’d gotten her revenge on the men who had rejected her by stabbing him. Her past may have been littered with despicable men, but she was the problem all along.
To think, he had been ready to give her his heart, to love her unconditionally. But it must have been the case that she was only interested in those who could give her material things. He could not. So she lied about him, just as she had lied about how horrible her ex was, when she had not even tried to leave him. She liked brutish pieces of shit, disgusting man children with trust funds. She desired them. He had never had a chance. That was why she continued to associate with men just like the vulgar infant. She was looking to replace the pig with the same. She had never wanted love. She had never valued loyalty. She wanted a rich guy with a nice house and an expensive car. Why else would she have lied about what had happened with the lout? And why else would she have tried to destroy him so thoroughly, acting as if she were leagues above him? He was poor. That’s why she never put anything in writing. She knew she was lying. Now it all made sense.
She was a compulsive liar, who needed to play the victim to cover up her past sins, which had to have been serious transgressions to get her tossed to the curb by men who never relinquished their property without a sale. And it’s why she chose and continued to choose pieces of dog shit. They were the only ones who would take her, knowing they could use her … and she wanted to be used. She must have known that he would have rejected her once he found out what she was, though he had loved her so much that he would likely have let her past slide. So she was proactive in the worst of ways and attacked him first. That is why she had never wanted him and had tried to kill him. And it’s why she would never confess to it. That’s why she led on married men and denied it. She called her ex psycho, and, although he was, it had not been enough for her to leave him. That’s why she allowed the brute back into her life. She called him, the one who’d fallen for her, psycho, though she had, literally, made up a story, attacked him, and turned him into the monster she was.
That was how it appeared. Was it possible that she had wed a malignant narcissist, who had finally torn her down and dismissed her? It was possible, but, if that’s what it had actually been, she would not have done it to anyone else. And she did. She did it to a man who had loved her sincerely. Her behavior did not match a kind person who had been damaged by a demon. It matched that of a demon. But she would never reveal the reality, either way, and so, the appearance she gave, given that all she cared about was appearances, was the truth she did not challenge.
Holy fuck. She had the nerve to pretend she was pious, the nerve to act as if she were better, more moral, than he? She’d lied about everything and still did. She was the psycho, and would never bother to prove otherwise, most likely, because she couldn’t.