You had a knack of succumbing to the wrong people—to Janes waving, proud and high, flaming-red flags.

Was it selective blindness, the need for a replacement, or just blatant ignorance? A brew of all three, she'd speculate, whilst your blubs puddled her sheets, soaked her pillow with your garbled rants. The reason? All because your bitchy two-month-girlfriend returned to single-player mode. For the triadic time, this year.

"I warned you about her," she stated once, countering your sniveling pitch of "She broke my heart, Jacks. Said our horoscopes weren't meant to be." What a flimsy excuse, so baldly bogus her eyes indulged in taking a scenic roll to her skull. Stapled her gaze at miserable you, though, before you'd notice. "You'll find someone else."

Someone like me.

"I won't make the same mistake," a mantra you aimed to abide like God's gospel. Yet, three months later, who's this new gal?

"Tada! My new girlfriend!" More like your next mistake.

"That's her?" teetered at the brink of disdain rather than curiosity, coupling with a soured expression not-at-all-veiling-her-jealousy. Way to go, Jacks. But you, cupid-struck and queasy, eagerly nod at her skepticism, smidge with badly hidden venom, and replied, "Mhm. She's a goddess, right?"

"Lemme decide for myself." A groan the mattress emitted as Jackie sought for the polaroid's edge, its portraiture borderline seared into your hippocampus's motherboard. To which, she must do the same with the 'in-your-face' approach, as if she was nearsighted. Truth to be told, it's to inspect the competition with good ol' stink-eye.

Popular girl with... pupil-popping visage. Mayhap, grades leveled at her A-grade phiz. Damn it. Insecurity's ghastly head clinches her heart, bruises her ego. "Yeah... she's pretty," a choked reply and she returns it. A rickety grin on life support.

To think your 'confession' was this, instead of what she thought. Hoped.

"Is she nice?" Stupid query, truly. Yet, she ached to score over her rival—for you to look her way.