I'd Key Your Car, But...

"I should key his car. Or slash his tires. Or maybe his face." 

Images of clothes burning on my lawn flit through my brain, filling me with a preemptive satisfaction that warms me more than the third glass of wine did, but less than the fourth. Anyone who says revenge isn't worth it clearly isn't trying hard enough. 

"You get your revenge by living a good life," Talia tells me. There's a hint of a slur to her words, making me wonder just how long we've been holed up in my apartment, drinking through the latest round of fuckery that is my love life. "You move on and show him he didn't deserve you. You heal. That's what's really going to make him suffer."

It's impossible not to scoff at all the wide-eyed sincerity rolling off her in waves. 

"That's the most boring thing I've ever heard."

She frowns, and I realize responses like this are what chip away at people's sympathy for me. Even though I'm the victim here, and he's the cheating asshole that deserves to have his tires slashed. 

Letting out a sigh, I try to wrangle my anger into submission. Another violent incident will clearly cost me some friendships, no matter how justified I am. But it's hard. My anger is like a wild animal, dodging when I reach for it, hiding in the dark corners of my chest and biding its time until it senses a moment of weakness to break free. 

When my attention filters back to the present, I blink Talia's face back into focus. There's an exhaustion to her I didn't notice before, and the gaze she pins me down with is stern. The kind of stern that always precedes a conversation I know I won't win. 

"You can't keep doing this to yourself." She speaks softly, like she also senses that the wild thing inside of me is waiting for any excuse to fight or flee. 

"He's the asshole here, Talia." It sounds like a hollow excuse, even to me. His infidelities didn't buy me any points with the last judge I faced in civil court, and they aren't getting me anywhere with my best friend either.

"He's an asshole, sure." She hesitates. Even through the alcohol-haze, I can see the glimmer of fear in her eye before she pushes on. "But that doesn't automatically make you inculpable." 

The world seems to pause while we both consider where to go from here, the state of our friendship teetering in the balance.

"Logic is the death of fun, you know," I say, but my heart isn't in it enough to make her laugh. Before, I could always make her laugh.

"Break ups aren't supposed to be fun."

There's an edge of sympathy to her tone that makes my skin itch, and I can't hold eye contact with her any longer. 

"I guess."

~~~

Two days later, his things are piled in bags instead of bonfires, waiting to be picked up. His car is still here and undefiled, and Talia's face shines with so much pride I might puke. 

Her warm smile sinks into me as she tells me how impressed she is at my restraint. She goes on and on. Some of it sinks in, making me feel proud of myself as well.

In the deepest, darkest corner of myself, the wild animal chitters in frustration. It's not used to being caged like this. The rawness of its anger is loud, but I tell it to shush.

We had a deal, after all.

It stays locked up, while Talia and I watch him drive away in his undefiled car, with all his undefiled clothes, still wearing his undefiled liar's face.
No cops, no court, no more bailouts from my exhausted bestie.

I will move on with my shiny adult life. The wild thing will stay caged. And if I let it out once in a while, just to take the edge off, I consider it progress.

No one noticed I slashed the spare tire in his trunk.

It's still progress. I'm working on myself.