Aisle 6

Well, this is going to be awkward. But to understand why, I would have to go back three months.

It was one of your standard Tuesday nights, fast food chinese for dinner, algorithmic show on the television, unspoken yearnings in between bathroom breaks and runs to the fridge for drinks. I could tell you wanted to start a fight, conjure it out of nowhere, or maybe if I misplaced one comment too many. I kind of wanted one, too, but it was 11PM and we had work in the morning.

But you were determined and as your desperate tactical nuke, you told me about Mark. Naturally — no one could trust the Marks of the world. But then you also told me about Nathan, a name I was fond of for no discernible reason. And finally you told me that they were together, and that you were joining them. To spare you the details, I had yelled a yell unbefitting the time of the night.

“What do you mean you’re joining them?” The yell sounded something like that. Like a fucking club? I asked. An intrusive thought: a club that fucked, silly. A throuple. I screamed. A fucking throuple. You explained and I listened because despite the shock, I was also pervertedly curious. Who were these boys and why did they need two more each? Did they not know one was a handful?

And so the next day, which was really just a few hours after, you took what little stuff you had anchored in my flat, and left like an eager early bird out for its early worm. Worms. I had to remind myself but it was day one and I could cut myself slack for not remembering. In my worst times, I thought of you and wondered how you were. Were you basking in the pleasures of double penetration, or maybe just being loved doubly than I ever could. The latter hurt more, but I would never tell anyone that.

And from then on my dread built up. I couldn’t hate you; I couldn’t get mad. I always knew I was lacking, but if it took fucking Mark and fucking Nathan to sate you, there must be some relief, some solace in that for me somewhere. I wanted to get mad so bad. But in anger’s stead only was dread. Dread that I might never fully understand. Dread that one day as I was grocery shopping I would run into the three of you. Which brings me back to why today, now, is going to be awkward as I saw the trinity — your trinity — walking toward me on aisle six between shelves of detergent soaps and mophead refills.

Which brings me back to while I don’t hate you, I wish you, and Mark, and Nathan, had just pretended not to see me. You owed me that much.