We're Over, and You Want Me to Be Jealous?
Everyone said I was too possessive when it came to my girlfriend, Amanda Crane.
When Amanda first started taking photos of her childhood friend, Ian Lewis, I ripped apart all the rolls of film.
When she helped him fix his computer, I called her 100 times in an hour.
And when he called her from the airport, asking her to pick him up because the rain made it impossible to get a cab, I held a knife to my throat. I told her I'd take my own life if she went to him.
Fed up, Amanda shipped me off to a psychiatric hospital that same night.
When I got out, I vanished. Amanda was certain I was hiding somewhere, spying on her and Ian, but I never showed up—until the celebration party for a business project three years later.
Ian put his arm around Amanda and swirled the wine glass he was holding. He shot me a taunting look, remarking, "You used to get so jealous, Steven. I'm sure you no longer mind if Mandy and I drink from the same glass now, right?"
He waited for me to go berserk the way I used to three years ago, but I simply moved the bottle of wine closer to them.
"I don't mind at all, of course. Have as many glasses as you want. It's great to see that your relationship has been progressing so well."
Amanda paused. Her eyes started to redden. She stared fixedly at me and questioned, "Why don't you feel jealous anymore, Steven?"
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