For more than two years you've played this game with me. This game of, "Oh, we work together, I can't 'get involved,'" yet it's still okay to hook up at your convenience. I told you I didn't want a serious relationship, I told you I could deal with the occasional "fuck-buddy" relationship—it just couldn't be ONLY on your fucked-up terms. Months ago I told you that I was done giving that part of myself to you. More importantly, I told myself. Then, a couple weeks ago, you called. Drunk. At 2:00 a.m. For an hour, you sweet-talked me, made me feel good and talked me into driving over there. And you talked me into calling in sick and spending the whole day with you... in bed. And you told me how you "felt." And, like an IDIOT, I fucking trusted you. Fuck you, you filthy fucking pig! You used me like a whore! You have serious fucking issues. And you've always been too much of a fucking coward to share ANY feelings when you're sober. That should have been a HUGE red flag. Every time I look at you, every day at work, the ONLY thing running through my head will be "That motherfucking pig!"

—Anonymous