Kryptonite Immunity!

Whenever I felt lonely I found myself turning to Kryptonite for comfort.  Sure, it's purely physical, but I left feeling satiated and somewhat content.  It's days later that the emptiness filled my soul.  Two months has passed since our last meeting and feeling low, I call him.  His voice sounds excited to hear from me.  He's got a big smile on his face and I can nearly see it through the phone.  I'm heading to an art event, but we make plans to meet afterwards.  I call when I'm around the corner.

We play very well together.  We laugh and enjoy each other mentally and physically. Contented, we drift off to sleep.  His phone rings at 1 am.  He answers.  He gets out of bed.  He's gone for a while, in the living room, calling someone "Babe".  The conversation I picked up on was from a woman who went on a date, had just arrived back at home and was calling to give him an update. I'm not sure why I'm getting angrier by the minute, but I am.   It feels disrespectful to me. He doesn't hear me when I get out of his bed and I leave, slamming the door behind me.  I drive the 30 seconds it takes me to get home, pull into my driveway and my phone rings.  It's him.  

"Weren't you even going to say goodbye?"   I'm angry.  Mad, even.  Mostly at myself because I've left my best underwear at his house.

"I'm on my way back.  Meet me at the door with my underwear."  I hang up on him.  I drive back and he's not at the door with my knickers.  He's baiting me into going back into the house.

I enter his house and go to his bedroom to get my underwear and I find him propped up in bed, leaning against the headboard with the sheet over his naked hips.  Sexy pose, but suddenly, I'm immune. I took the moment to tell him exactly how I felt. How angry I was at being a secret and how shameful it makes me feel.  How rude it is to take a phone call when you have someone in your bed.  And I finished with how he's missing out because there's a side to me that he'll never know.  All the while I'm crawling around on the floor looking for my bra and panties that were thrown helter skelter a few hours ago.  

He apologized.   He actually apologized.  And it was too late.  Something in me had clicked.  I was done.  That apology meant nothing to me.  It rang hollow in my ears and heart.  He tried to get me to come back to bed, but I was done.  WE were done.  I've built up an immunity to his brand of kryptonite.   I went home and went through my closet searching for one of his shirts I had worn home one night.  I went to the kitchen and found the coffee mug I had left with one morning.  I put the reminders of him in a bag and put them in the trunk of my car along with a few other items that were destined for donation.  I didn't even flinch when I handed them over to the Salvation Army.  

Someone sent me a text with what looks like the x-ray of a man's head.  Inside the head is an animated penis flopping up and down and written below it is the caption:  Your MRI came back positive.  You're a dick head.  I sent it to him.  I haven't heard back.  I know I won't, but damn! I certainly feel better!  I've finally conquered kryptonite!