Look at her. Look at her. Clutching onto his arm with those claws of hers, laughing at his idiotic jokes as if she’s never heard anything funnier. Prancing around in that stupid little skirt and those ridiculous heels. The girl dresses like it’s 1950 and she’s going to the ball, with her fancy long skirts and those precariously high heeled shoes, and those slutty blouses baring her cleavage like it’s no more sexual than her forearm. I can’t imagine what he sees in her, the little rodent. Everyone I know hates her. The prissy show-off attention whore. She talks so loudly it’s a wonder the people around her don’t go straight-up deaf, as if anyone cares what she’s talking about. She absolutely has to answer every question in class, or I guess she just hasn’t put us in our place quite well enough. And of course, she has to talk like she memorized the dictionary as a child, with words I’ve never heard in my life, just to really drill in the fact that all of us ignorant little children are so far beneath her and her superior intellect. Why on earth would he ever choose her? What could he possibly see in that pretentious, arrogant, rotten little wench?

She doesn’t deserve him. He’s so nice, so sweet, so loving. He’s the kind of boy who cares about people’s feelings. She is not that kind of girl; I doubt she thinks even once about how much it will hurt a person before a thought leaves her mouth. I bet she’s insulted him a dozen times over by this point. And him being the gentleman he is, he won’t say anything. He’ll just sit down and take it. I doubt he’s said a foul world against her since they met, no matter how many times she’s hurt him. I’ve heard things about that girl, and I know that if the universe were fair and kind, she would have never caught sight of his perfection.

And to think, she thinks I’m her friend. Ha! I hate her with the depth and darkness of a pit one thousand feet deep. I hate her with the burning passion of one billion white-hot stars! I wish she would just disappear off the face of the planet one day. I wish she would move across the Earth, to a remote, desolate country with no internet or post, no way to stay in contact with a man she doesn’t deserve. I wish she would get out of my life. I want her gone, forever. I want that filthy rat to leave alone my beautiful, handsome prince and quit playing him with her deceptive charm and skin-deep beauty. He thinks he’s in love, the sweet naïve fool. As if anybody could fall in love with a person like her. He is infatuated, by her cosmetic-slathered face and bare breasts. He thinks that her being as brash and point-blank as she is is honest and refreshing. He can’t see under the surface to the deep subliminal truth of cruelty and sadism. She likes to hurt people. It’s what she does. She’s hurt him so many times, and the poor little boy just keeps running right back. He doesn’t deserve the hatefulness and negative that awful girl spews with every word. He deserves a person who will show affection and love and compassion, someone who will make him feel good and happy and peaceful. Someone who is nothing like her.

She spies me and waves. I wave back, smiling happily, seething with black anger underneath my cheerful mask. She beckons me over. I point to my book and shake my head. She ignores this gesture and walks over.

“Hi! What are you doing here all alone?” I grit my teeth. Shut up, I think, and leave me alone! To make matters worse, she’s brought over her boyfriend, as if to rub in the fact that she holds possession of him and not me.

“Just reading a book”, I reply, lacing my voice with honey to try and cover up the bitter tones.

“Oh, cool! Is it good?” I was about ready to slap the overly sweet smile off her perky little face. Hadn’t I made it clear I was not in the mood for conversation?

“Yes, it is. Really good. In fact, I was just getting to the climax, so…if you don’t mind…”.

“Oh, no, of course! Have fun!”. She turned away from me, and ran gaily back to her table. I was boiled over with hatred. She was so happy, so joyful. You could smell the cheer dripping from every soft lock of dark brown hair, flowing from every sickly perfumed breath. She had stolen a love and joy that had belonged to me, that should be mine! I was the one who loved him! I was the one who would care for him, who could make him feel adored, who would make him truly happy. Instead he had chosen that prat, that priss, that horrible old hag, who would do nothing but bring him down.

I knew something that not everyone else did. Few people outside of her tightly enclosed little group of friends had caught wind of it, but I had. I knew that this girl had broken his heart. Not just once, either – she had taken a stake and mallet and shattered him to pieces several times over. And every time, he just kept coming back. No matter how many times she lit him on fire till he screamed from the flames, beat him until bruises blossomed across his fine emotional skin, cut him and scraped him until the blood flowed thick and fast from the sharp, jagged wounds, he always came back for more. I knew about the lies she’d told him, signs and hints she led him on with, all of the cruel and sudden changes of heart she’d innocently claimed she had no control over. I knew about every single one. One time – just once – he’d left her. He walked away from the dishonest, brutal scoundrel and came to me. I was the one who helped him through the pain, who was able to ease his suffering. I was the only one who understood him, and could comfort him. I told him the truth about her. I told him that she would never stop breaking his heart no matter how many times he tried, no matter how much he hoped. I told him that she was a horrible person, a cruel person, a person who likes nothing better than to see him squirm under the iron grip she held him in. I told him he shouldn’t go back, that he would be happier without her.

It didn’t work. He went back. He went back to her, and two weeks later they were dating. He ignored everything I said, denied to himself every flaw she possessed, and returned to be beaten down and wounded once again.

I want to be with him more than anything in the world. I want to hold him, to kiss him, to love him. But that will not happen, because another girl holds him tightly away from me. I will never know the happiness of being his, for that has been stolen from me. All that I can do to ease my pain and sorrow is to black it out with hatred and anger. All I can do to numb the swords and daggers stabbing through my heart is to shove away my heart completely, and replace it with vile feelings and jealousy. The only way I have to keep myself from hurting every moment of every day is to hate the kind, sweet, joyful girl that he is dating so thoroughly that there is no room in my heart for love.