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I never really liked you. It always made me uncomfortable having my invulnerable big sister exposed at your hands. I mistrusted you, but I never said anything. You made her happy. You weren’t like her last sweet and geeky boyfriend. They had gone their separate ways and still my sister was torn apart. She met you and you were “friends”. You were nice, always striving to make a good impression on your girlfriend’s family. You were always friendly with me. Megan spent every second of her time with you. And of course, it turned out a few weeks later that the new heart-shaped necklace she never took off was not, in fact, a birthday present from my Nana that she had dug out of her closet, as she had told us.
You had been dating my sister for over eight months, and it was your birthday. I was Megan’s consultant on all things baking, and she wanted you to have a special cake for your seventeenth. I’ve always been the baker in the family. I taught her how to add to a recipe, how to make a cake spectacular without any chocolate. You don’t like chocolate. She bought a keychain online for your birthday, a little open and shut metal photo frame. She spent literally hours on the Mac trying to size a picture of you two together in Disneyland into the tiny hole. I, once more, was her consultant. I’m the second best techie in the family when Dad isn’t home. She gift-wrapped it, and I showed her which ribbon went the best with her wrapping paper and how to tape the ends of the package together neatly, folding the ends of the paper under and taping securely. When Mom isn’t there, I’m Megan’s gift wrapping consultant.
She made a quiche for you, when you came over on your birthday. She threw it into the oven and sneaked back over to where she was watching a movie with you. I quietly called her into the room whenever the feeble oven alarm sounded, so she could check on it and run back in. It had to be a surprise for your special day. You meant everything to her. I took the quiche out of the oven for her, and you and Megan ate it together. I left the room.
When Megan finished, she ran into the kitchen and asked where there were candles. I dug them out of the pantry, and she stuck them on the cake that she (or we) had made for you. The two of you blew them out together. When I looked at Megan’s face, there was an enormous grin stretched across it, quite literally “ear to ear”. What she didn’t know, however, was that you had been cheating for at least two months.
I came home that terrible day about a month later exhausted. I was already in a bad mood; with my parents, with my teachers, with my siblings, and I couldn’t wait to go into my room and sleep. But not much time had passed when Meg stumbled out of her room, sobbing “He cheated on me, he cheated on me.” You see, you hadn’t logged out of your Facebook page before you left our house. Your chats were open on the page, and not Megan’s. But as she guided her mouse towards the log out link, one phrase caught her eye on your messages: “Good night, I love you, beautiful.” It wasn’t sent to her.
My ear was pressed against the bedroom door as my sister choked through her story. She had then found a conversation on your Facebook that had occurred that summer between you and the other girl. You were asking the girl for pictures— inappropriate pictures. I didn’t understand. I felt sick. You, Megan’s friendly, loving boyfriend, asking a girl for pictures??? It didn’t make sense. I didn’t believe it. Megan contacted the girl soon after she read this, and she admitted that you had known her from a class you were in together a year ago. You had liked her, but she had moved to another school later on. That didn’t stop you from pursuing.
You persisted after her, even after you had my sister as a girlfriend. The other girl knew about Megan. She wasn’t interested. But for whatever reason, that conversation the next summer still occurred, and you were still a liar.
When she called you that night, you tried to deny it. You didn’t know what messages she was talking about. Your friend had written that. But you confessed eventually. And she dumped you.
I was heartbroken, and it didn’t make any sense why; I had never liked you, so why should I be so surprised now? It just felt so… unreal. This only happened in books, in movies. Not to my beautiful but innocent older sister. Not by her funny, friendly boyfriend. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. But it was.
I came out and hugged her. Megan was crying, and to my surprise, I was too. I was sobbing. Why would this happen to her? I would never date; I hated men! What had started off as pity had now melted away into anger. She didn’t deserve this. She’d done nothing wrong. She had spent so much time and money on you, and this was how you repaid her? By cheating on her for months? You had no conscience! I wanted to hurt you, to make you pay for what you’d done. Who cared that I was a thirteen year old girl and you were a seventeen year old junior in high school? That wouldn’t stop me. My heart was pounding, throbbing in my chest. I wanted to punch, kick, squeeze. I was crying harder than Meg. I resolved to do the only thing I can do well: to write.
Still, as I write this letter to you, I have an urge to send it. I want you to know how badly you not only hurt my strong, stable sister, but her whole family. I want you to think twice next time. And I want better for my sister.
But I know, somewhere inside me, that it will never be sent. It will rest in my desktop saved as an insignificant .doc forever; unsatisfying and without ever fulfilling its purpose.
On this note, I bid you farewell, Carter, for what I hope will be the last time. I hope that you find better things to do with your life than to play with the hearts of girls who open themselves up to you, and who think they love you. But they will only ever love who they think you are, as my sister recently learned.
I’d also like to say thank you to you, for you have taught me a valuable but painful lesson about life. People aren’t always who or what they say they are, and it is incredibly easy to lie to anyone in your life. However, if this happens to one of us again, me and my big sister will know how to walk away. Because you’re not worth crying over anyways.
Your Ex’s Sister