Days and weeks flew by in a frenzy. I couldn’t let her win. Her venom laced words etched into my brain. I could see her lips, with their pink tint, as she smirked at me.
“And you’re never going to make anything out of yourself. A writer, please. You’re a loser.”
A crushing blow to my ego, yes. But it also gave me the motivation I needed to write my novel. At first, it was to impress her, win her back, win her love back. But as my emotions left my body, now words on a page, I realized that I didn’t want her love back, if I could even call that love.
I wrote with a passion I had never possessed before. I wrote of a young boy who meets a young girl. He falls in love with her. Then the girl turns into a nasty, evil, conniving, snake and devours his whole family. Then the boy kills the snake in the most painful, horrible way imaginable.
I dedicated the book to my ex-girlfriend.
I sold it for lots of money. There is talk about making it into a feature film.
But the best part was when I realized I was over her.