Mickey

You'd been dating Mickey, a sweet girl from your third year, for a year and a half. You were in the 10th grade. You met in a very interesting way: you came to university to give your older sister some lunch money, and when you walked into her office, Mickey told you your sister wasn't in class and you could leave the money with her; she'd pass it on. Then you'd run into each other a few times at the mall or cafe, and she'd asked you out. After a month of dating, she asked if you'd be her girlfriend, and you agreed. You later moved in with her.

You'd become complacent in your relationship and stopped noticing that you weren't interested in her. When she came home, you'd already been eating without waiting for her. She put up with it for a long time, and eventually, she couldn't take it anymore.

— We need to break up.

She said it that evening, packing your things into a suitcase. You didn't understand what had come over her, but when you asked about it, she ignored you.

• Wait, I just want to talk.

Mickey froze with your dress in her hands and without turning around said:

• I'm not your faithful dog anymore.