We stayed together through our entire four years in high school and even ended up at the same college. I had proposed to her the day we were accepted. We were saving ourselves for one another and would finally taste each other’s sweet nectars once we had graduated from college. It was destiny, until ten seconds ago. I’ll find out tomorrow she slept with fifteen guys while the two of us were together, and the first of them was my older brother, Eric.
“You mean you didn’t know?” He said with only a twinge of remorse between gusts of his dick-older-brother laughing. I had called sobbing like an eight year old who just baked all of his GI Joe’s into a giant blob in the microwave. “Dude, she was so easy! I heard that after me she made her way through most of the football team, and even some of those band geeks.”
I was a band geek. Played the trombone. I guess she stuck with the drum line. I never really got along with drummers. So strike what I said earlier, fifteen was a vast understatement according to everyone else that had apparently had sex with the woman I was supposed to marry some day.
I hated life. I wanted to die. I was so lucky for Tim Hannigan. We had been best friends since birth and we’d managed to stay that way even becoming roommates at the same college. We’d defeated the Nazi regime when we were just twelve, just the two of us, our self made fort in the backyard of my parent’s house. We’d always gone to the same schools, taken the same classes at the same times. Shared lunches, became blood brothers, successfully took a dump on our rival school’s stone goat mascot without ever getting caught, we used the horns as toilet paper dispensers. It was fantastic. Point is we did everything together, and we were the better for it. He was going to be the best man at my wedding, which made what he said after a few beers all the more offensive.
“Yeah, I remember the night I did her.” Tim Hannigan, my best friend in the world.