It's Not Me It's You Novels & Stories

His jaw flexed tight. “Do you even hear yourself?” I continued. “You cheated on me and somehow convinced yourself it’s my fault?” “I didn’t say it was your fault—” “Shut the fuck up, Luke.” My voice cracked through the quiet library. My knuckles whitened around the phone. “You’re a pathetic, lying piece of shit who couldn’t keep it in your pants. We are done. Stop calling me.” “You’re just angry.” “Yes,” I snapped. “I am angry.”

“Don’t make it the same thing. We are not the same.” “In the spirit of not being the same,” I continued, clasping my hands behind me, “don’t mess up my life like you’ve messed up yours. Don’t mess up my love like you’ve messed up yours.”

Was this payback? Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “Is this because I didn’t go with your narrative pitch yesterday?” Ava blinked, startled. Then slowly tilted her head to the side. “Excuse me?” Luke instantly regretted saying it, but the damage was done. He sat back, exhaling. “I just meant—never mind. Forget I said that.” “No.” Her voice was soft but steady. “You think I’m shooting down your idea because I’m being petty?”

"Just shut up and don't have to interfere with my business too much, you idiot!" "I'm not being stupid, I just feel sorry for you. How could you just let him go? Come on, everyone knows that you really, really like him. Instead of you always being like this, you better take the initiative first. I'm just sorry to see your gloomy face because of the closeness of the two of them. Don't you realize that your current face looks like a face that hasn't been fed for a year? You can't lie to yourself, you idiot!" "DON'T KNOW YOURSELF?"

Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe. But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text: [Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.] Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel. The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!] Pinned right at the top was an old photo of me from a few years ago. Back when I was 180 pounds. The comment section was ruthless: [If the Boss knew what he actually won, he'd regret making that bet.]

"You're t​hi‍nking maybe you weren't the problem.‌ Maybe‍ it was them all along." ​ "Was it?" I looked at hi​m.⁠ "Was I just—was there really not‌h​in‍g wrong with‍ me?⁠ Nothin⁠g t‍h‍a⁠t made me unlovab‍l⁠e?‍"

Was about to reply, when another text popped up. Unknown number 💬: Need me to remind your little ex why he never should’ve messed with my ice-tongued princess?

“Just do it.” “I hope I never get on your bad side.” “Pray that you never get on my bad side,” I snapped, and hung up.

His defeated and stiff posture signal how hard this will be for him. "You deserve to know. I want you to know. What happened between us Saturday wasn't you. It was all me, Aspen. It wasn't fair to you, but I want you to understand why. If nothing else I want to make sure you know it wasn't you." He uses the cliché "it's not you, it's me," but for some reason it doesn't sound as if he's giving me a line. I don't answer him. There isn't anything for me to say.

my sister said “I would, but your face would scare everyone away because of how ugly you are” I teased her as I stuck out my tongue to her. Our parents just sat there laughing. “Well jokes on you, we look alike so you are basically calling yourself ugly” she fired back. I was about to reply her when I heard Serena’s car honk outside.