Creative Writing: "Sorry"

Inspired by "Sorry" by Karine Polwart (a beautiful track and proper folk, check it out) and written for Folktales,  LSRfm.com's answer to soothing Sunday storytime.
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Dear Liar,

I’m writing to tell you that you’ve really done it this time. I’ve taken a lot over the past few months, years, but this… this is the final straw.

You have, frankly, been a consistently awful boyfriend. My mum hates you. My friends hate you. You’re rude and obnoxious and last year you forgot my birthday. You spend your week nights in the pub and you weekends watching football and you certainly don’t give a damn about anything I’ve got to say. You never clean the flat or offer to cook dinner and the last time you did something remotely nice it was to erect that shelving unit that collapsed three weeks later anyway. I’ve thought of leaving you a million times, but then you’d say something nice or tell me I looked pretty and I’d convince myself that the man I fell in love with must still be in there somewhere, hiding, and one day he’d come back to me. So I’d stay, all for that one, flimsy hope.

A shame, then, that when I was able to overlook all your faults, you ruined it all by being an underhanded, cheating scumbag. You thought you’d covered your tracks nicely, didn’t you, with all those tall stories and all that deceit? Well, let me tell you that those stories won’t wash any more. You’ve been caught red-handed. You’re busted.

I won’t say I wasn’t suspicious before. There’s only so much overtime one person can do. But I bit my tongue because I trusted you. I overlooked the late nights when you stumbled in drunk, lipstick on your cheek, the smell of perfume on your skin. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, didn’t make a big thing of it. After all, I know what a lad’s night out is like and no one likes a jealous girlfriend. But when the weekend “courses” started, the “business trips” abroad, I knew that trusting you any longer would only make me look like the idiot. So, I read your emails. I opened your credit card bills. One night I even followed you out. I wanted to see your treachery with my own eyes so I could stop loving you and start hating you instead.

I saw you hold that tramp’s hand in the restaurant where we had out first date. I saw you stoke her cheek, kiss her goodnight. And it did make me hate you, but it hurt me too.

Does she know about me, I wonder?

Don’t bother to try and fix it this time. Don’t bother with the over blown romantic gestures. Don’t call. Don’t send me flowers. Don’t come around to my house to stand and plead forgiveness under my bedroom window. This isn’t like the other times, you know. “Sorry” isn’t going to cut it. How could you possibly think that a mere apology would give me back the dignity you stole so unthinkingly from me? You’ve broken my heart and demolished my pride. “Sorry” isn’t good enough and it’s never going to be good enough, ever again.

I hate you for making a fool of me. I hate you for taking the best years of my life and not even making it worth it. I will never forgive you for this.

Please find all you possessions on the front lawn.

Regards,

A Better Person Than You.