Prompt: Write an inner monologue from the perspective of a cheating boyfriend.

What are you up to?

When I see the text on my phone, I feel the aggravation rise inside me. What does she want now?
I decide to ignore her for the time being. I have more pressing matters to attend to. Looking at the beautiful girl before me, I imagine where this date will lead. Already, I can see myself walking her home. Then she will invite me up for a coffee. Of course I will agree. Who wouldn’t in my situation? She is reasonably enjoyable to talk to, but we both know this is not what we are looking for in each other. Her adventurous eyes tell me that tonight will be exciting at the least. When she goes to powder her nose, I look at my phone again. I should have known better.

Can we meet tonight? I miss you.

It takes me all I have not to roll my eyes at my phone. I should just turn it off. But Mary wanted me to get back to her about this weekend. For a second, I smile at my memories of our last meeting. Then I remember the task at hand. Mary’s ass is great, but she’s not Leni. Speaking of which, Leni comes back inside the restaurant, not sitting down again. I immediately get up and start following her. My hand glides into her back pocket. We chatter about nothing important while walking. I even have time to text Mary back. It’s on for Saturday and I have a clean mind for what lies before me now.
Just when I want to lock my phone, I get a notification. It’s not Mary anymore.

I saw you were online?!?

I feel my face shift into a cringed frown. This is annoying. My fingers move to the notification when the next text arrives.

Have I done something wrong?

The second pop-up prevents me from opening the chat. I’m disgusted now. She has done nothing wrong and she should know it. Why does she have to be so clingy?
I shake my head and give Leni a quick slap on her butt. We arrive at her apartment and she’s looking for her keys. The question about the coffee has become unnecessary.

When I leave two hours later, it is dark outside. And I have 5 missed calls on my phone. I sigh and finally open my chat with her.

I was out with some friends babe.

That should do it. Maybe she can even come around tonight. It couldn’t hurt. As long as she won’t cry her eyes out about being such a bad person. It’s not even true. Sure, she isn’t the smartest. She has no idea what’s going on around her. But so paranoid! And I’m not even sure if I’m in love with her. But every time I try to break it off…well…she cries. Have you ever looked at a crying woman you cared about, knowing it is your fault? Not a nice feeling at all. Sometimes, I can hear people thinking about what I’m doing. When my roommate caught me with someone else, I was sure he would bring it up when she’d come over. But he didn’t. So I guess I’m alright after all?

Oh okay, sorry! I didn’t know!

Naturally. It’s always easier to think of an excuse after the fact. Once, she found a recipe of a fancy restaurant in my pants after I told her I had been playing football with the boys. I made up a leg injury of one of my friends. Also, one of them lost their wallet, which is why I paid for two. Even my grandma would have seen through this. Another time, I had sex with a former roommate while she was in my room. I kid you not—thrilling to the max, but also…she could have noticed that my shower was taking forever. But she never does. She always questions me. But also believes everything I say. It’s like I can do nothing wrong. The perfect guy.

Can I come over?

I swipe the notification away. I just saw Annabelle on the other side of the street. I wave and wink. She blushes and blows me a kiss. My calendar says I have time next week Thursday. I text her when the next messages pops up.

I love you so much ❤

I’m putting my phone away when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window. My steps stop. I stare at myself for a short while. My eyes dig too deep, the face distorts into a grimace. It takes significant restrain not to punch the glass. A shake of the head is all I allow myself to get rid of the image of a monster. I delete the chats with Mary and Annabelle before I reply. Not with the first thing that comes to mind—I know—but with something more soothing.

I guess I can make time for you tonight.

When I send it, I wonder when she finally will see that she has to break up with her cheating boyfriend. She deserves better. She must be aware of that. How can’t she?