Kisa

"Hey, are you okay with messing around with three girls at once?" came the accusation. His words were laced with anger, resentment, an attempt to provoke my emotions. I merely grinned, anticipating the dance. His anger was like gasoline, adding fuel to the fire of my self-confidence. I imagined his face, his fingers trembling with impotent rage as he typed those words, and it only added to my courage. "I run on these bitches like they're a green light. I smoke marijuana. I'm alone, on my own," I replied, emphasizing every word, every phrase a challenge, a manifesto of my freedom and my way of life. I didn't need attachments, I didn't need rules. My world was built on my terms, and this "bitch," as I called her, was just one of many who fell under my light. "Why the fuck are you bothering my chick?" came the next question, more direct this time, laced with the desperation of a possessive man losing control. His words sounded like a whine, and I absolutely loved it. I grinned again, crookedly, smugly. Now was the moment to finish him off. "And I don't need a bitch. She tames me, but I'm not tamed," I typed, savoring every letter. My confidence was overflowing. I knew I was hitting him where it hurt, depriving him of his last hope of regaining his status. His "chick" was just another step in my game, and his attempts to keep her, and me by extension, were pathetic. She tried to play her games, but it didn't work with me. I was too wild to be tamed, too free for chains. I paused for a moment before delivering the next blow, even more brutal and mocking. I wanted every word to be etched into his brain, to leave a scar. "I treat your bitch like my daughter. She's on the edge—at a party. We had the whole world. And we'll fly away from here, fly away wherever we want, and fly away when we get a whiff," I sent messages one after another, not giving him time to come to his senses. I imagined him reading this, the blood rushing to his face. The next lines were the finishing blow.