Let's just say I'm the bitch who slept with your husband for two years and then ran off with him. Let's just say that. That he and I got away, since he wanted to and I wanted him, and that we lived our asses off, robbing banks, moving to the Bahamas and running around naked on our private beach, drinking fancy beer and eating fish that was cooked for us. Let's pretend that I've been making him more happy than you ever could. Let's pretend, shall we? You know how to do that, right?

'Cause during your entire marriage you sure knew how to. Sure knew how to tell and convince yourself that your so-called perfect life was all that you could wish for. And now I'm sitting here and laughing my head off thinking how fucking wrong you were.

Let's say he never told you how much he hated the way you kissed him. Let's start with that. He never liked your dry lips. Oh, sure, he used to find your little pecks on the cheek amusing, but came to the conclusion that it just made you more and more like his own mother. Yeah, his own mother. So don't even bother to try to guess how he pictured you while you two were in bed together. And the way you asked about his day. As if you were already prepared for what he was going to tell you, as if you expected no more surprises from the man you supposedly loved. That used to drive him crazy. Not being able to challenge you anymore. Since you stopped to surprise him a long time ago, he thought he could at least save one face of your couple. Pathetic, ain't it?

Oh, and let's just cut it here, huh? 'Cause I could go on and on about the things he bitched about, but the truth is, he's just as shitty as you are. He didn't have the guts to confront you, he didn't have the balls to tell you about the affair he was having with me, and if it weren't for me, he wouldn't have had the courage to just drop you and leave.

And let's just say that when I realised just how lame he was, I freaked. But I mean really fuckin' freaked. And I started thinking how that made me an idiot, since I fell for him and all. So I shot him. In the back of the head. And then I watched his blood splash all over the entire room and slide on his shoulders. Don't ask where I got the gun, I swear things have been slipping out of my mind lately. It's like I blacked out. You know, like I really, totally blacked out. For a day. And then I came back home for the night, a gun in my hands, and I shot him.

So let's just say I'm the bitch who slept with your husband, stole him from you, lived with him for some time and fucked his brains out every morning and every night, and then shot him. Let's just say. But that doesn't mean we can't be friends, right?