By Friday the depression had begun to fade and I was just feeling angry. Who the hell did he think he was? I could have given the snotty little bastar... so much, but because I wouldn't shove his dick in my mouth the moment he asked for it, he decided I was no good? Fuck him! I decided that I would make a real effort to show him exactly what he had given up. The Friday after he had broken up with me I stayed late at school, working in the library on a paper. Outside I could hear the football team. They came to my rented room, dumped my hung-over ass out of my bed onto the floor and threatened to drag me to the bar in my boxers if I didn’t get dressed. Apparently if you promise an Irish friend that you will accompany him to a bar on St. Patty’s Day you must honor that promise no matter how hungover you are. No excuses allowed. It took a couple of hours for me to get the chance to talk to her. The bar was packed for St. Patricks Day and I lost sight of her. I figured she had left. Then. More

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