Katie… Katie… What kind of name is that? Katie. Kit. Kitty Cat. Katie. “Oh, I found someone. I’m with Katie now,”—he mentioned casually over the phone. It’s been less than a month since we broke up and the guy who once swore that he will never be able to love anyone else is with … “Katie”. I remember his sheer outrage when he read how Mercedes remarried a month after Dantess’ arrest. “That would never happen to us,”—he then declared,—“You’d have faith in me, wouldn’t you? You’d wait forever.” Well, darling love, I had faith in you. I had faith in you for two years. Despite everything that I saw with my own eyes, I still believed my obsessed mind. Oh, I was faithful to the idea of ideal you. What happened to your faith? Why did you let go so easily? Why didn’t you fight for me like you always said you would? Do you think of me when you are with your sweet little Kitty Cat?

I never met Katie, but I imagine her to be a bit shorter than me, dark wavy hair, big brown eyes to match his. I remember him telling me about her when we were still together. “Katie wasn’t feeling well last night. I took care of her.” “Katie is like a sister to me, you have nothing to worry about.” The images rush to my head as I lean over the cold bathroom sink. I see him making love to her. She’s running her delicate, girly fingers over his beautiful olive-colored skin. She presses her soft thighs against his strong torso as he pins her down to the bed, or the floor most likely. I wonder if you say the same things to her as you did to me. Do you so lavishly bite her earlobe and then gently whisper into her soul under your breath? Do you tell her that she was born to be with you? Do you ever slide an ice cube slowly between her young firm breasts, softly down her tense stomach, letting it melt into her young skin and leaving your fingers slippery and cold just in time to slide them between her trembling legs? I lean further into the sink and bury my face in the icy cold water on my shaky palms. Why does any of this bother me so much? I don’t want him back. I walked away from him. Why do I give a damn? I knew he was a bastard, that’s why I left. Did I need more proof than I already had? What’s wrong with me? My reflection seems to provide no answers. My stupefied glance dissolves in the green of my eyes. “A monster,”—I whisper. “Have I really become …”