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It only lasted a couple of weeks longer. I had seen his ugliest side, and I couldn’t forgive it. I told him that I couldn’t see him anymore. He said that I had used him, that people didn’t “just fall out of love.” I assured him that I had. He started crying and ran to his room, slamming the door.

He slammed his door a lot in those first few days, but this time I refused to play his game, to run over and make sure he was okay. I finally recognized that he was emotionally abusive and used his tears as a way of manipulating me.

I had no other place to go and no one to take over my rental agreement, so I stayed one room away from him for the next four months, sick to my stomach and scared that he might do something to harm me.

I saw him on the street a couple of years later; someone was taking a picture of him and a girl. I didn’t feel jealous. In fact, I felt sorry for that girl. I hope her love story with him turned out better than mine.

Tell us the story of your breakup and/or date from hell and we will publish it and pay you ($100 for 500-2000 words).

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San Diego Reader/Dumped
Box 85803
San Diego, CA 92186

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pete69 Feb. 15, 2008 @ 6:15 p.m.

That was me Carrie!!! I'm going to go cut myself now.


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