i protected you.

and you called me a liar for it.

i didn’t think it would be you.

you’ve called me a lot of things.
too much.
too loud.
too broken.
but liar?

never by you.
not until now.

i didn’t even know what i was saying would hit like that.
we were just talking—
how we do.
back and forth,
fluid.

i said it—
not to hurt.
not to win.
just as a fact.

i assumed you already knew.
how could you not?

i thought you saw it.
the way she moved.
the way she acted like you were hers to punish.
like her carrying your future gave her the right to rewrite your entire life.

i thought you’d know
she was never fighting for you.

so yeah—when i told you
that she encouraged me to let them come for you,
that she wanted me to be the one to tip the scale—
i thought it would just land as confirmation.
not as betrayal.

but you looked at me,
and said i was lying.

flat out.

but here’s what you don’t know:

i’ve experienced horror.
real horror.
the kind that leaves bruises on your organs and silence in your throat.
and when the cops called,
ready to add your name to the pile—
i couldn’t do it.

not because you didn’t hurt me.
but because i knew this wasn’t that.
not this time.

i knew what it would mean
to give you a record for something you didn’t deserve.
and i couldn’t live with that.
not after what i’ve survived.
not after what i’ve seen.

because i know the difference
between someone who is spiraling—
and someone who plans destruction.

but she wanted it.
she encouraged it.
and the moment i saw her try to weaponize your past
against the version of you that was trying—
i knew.

she’d never loved you.
not even a little.
not selflessly.
she kept you like a poison.

you were holding a destiny
and she was holding a match.

and now look.

look at the aftermath.
the ruin.

she said she wouldn’t put your name on her record.
she meant it.
you’ve been erased.

do you think i’ve held onto that for years
just for fun?
just to drop it like a trap,

no.

it was a bruise i stopped touching,
a fact too painful to revisit,
a betrayal so obvious i thought you already knew.

but you didn’t.
and when i said it out loud,
you didn’t question her—
you questioned me.

i didn’t lie.

not about the call.
not about your record.
not about how they were ready to pin it all on you—
because of your past,
because of who they wanted you to be.

and i didn’t lie when i said
i begged them not to.

i didn’t lie when i said
i protected you,
(even after you abandoned me to bleed out alone)
even when i shouldn’t have.

even when she was on the other end of the phone,
telling me to let you burn.
(“he deserves it; he needs to learn”)

she didn’t even know you.
but hated you for not giving her what she wanted.

do you know what it’s like
to hear someone say you deserve to be in prison—
realizing in that moment,
that she would destroy you without thinking twice?

i hated her for that.

do you know what it’s like
to be caught in the middle of two liars,
and still be the one called untrustworthy?

i didn’t lie.
and i won’t lie now.

but you are trapped.

you’re trapped with someone who plays you.
you’re trapped in a story where you love the manipulation—
you’re trapped by a woman who keeps you by the throat.
and i guess you like it.

and i’m not saying that to win.
i’m saying it because it’s already happening.
and i lost—
and you’re still protecting her.

but it was never me who was lying.

i told the truth.
you just didn’t want to hear it.

still don’t.