Some people have a talent for leaving others hanging.
They disappear without warning, without apology, like they’ve got the whole world on standby, waiting for them to stroll back whenever they feel like it.
Like Brittany.
She’s mastered that art.
She always knew how to keep people on the hook, and if they got hurt along the way, that was their problem.
She basically thought she was the pinnacle of female perfection and guys were lucky to be near her.
But here’s the thing about people like Brittany.
One day, they’re bound to run into someone who doesn’t play that way.
Brittany’s mistake was thinking that I was her simp.
And, the best revenge is always when karma and irony combine.
Finally, She Said Yes!
When Brittany said yes to my concert invite, I felt like I’d finally caught a break.
I’d been carrying this ridiculous torch for her for months—falling for her charm even though I knew, deep down, she wasn’t really interested.
She wasn’t cruel—just selfish.
She liked attention, and I was another fan in her audience.
But still, when she agreed to go to the show, I thought maybe I’d finally earned my way out of the friend zone.
We got to the venue, and for the first hour, everything was perfect.
She was wearing jeans, a vintage band t-shirt, and that loose, effortless hair that made it hard to tell if she tried or just woke up cool.
We laughed, shared a drink, and for the first time, I thought this might really be going somewhere.
Then, right as the main act took the stage, Brittany tapped my arm. “Oh my God, I see an old friend! I’ll be right back.”
I smiled like a fool. “No worries. Take your time.”
Except “a few minutes” turned into half an hour.
Then the encore came and went, and I was still standing there, lost in a sea of strangers.
No text, no call—just an empty space where she used to be.
Later, I learned the truth.
She’d run into her ex and left with him.
I spent the rest of the concert alone, wondering if she even remembered I was there.
Forgiving, but Not Forgetting
For a week, I told myself I wouldn’t reach out. I wouldn’t care.
But late one night, against every ounce of self-respect I had left, I texted her.
“Hey, no hard feelings. Want to grab dinner sometime?”
The moment I sent it, I wanted to slam my phone into a wall. But, almost immediately, she replied:
“You’re so sweet. Sure! Let’s do it.”
And just like that, I was back on her hook.
Or, so she thought.
I didn’t text her because I missed her or wanted another chance.
By then, I knew exactly what kind of person Brittany was.
I wasn’t looking for love—I was looking for closure.
And I had an idea of how to get it… and get a little revenge in the process.
I made a reservation at a fancy restaurant downtown. A place with crisp white tablecloths, candles on every table, and prices designed to make your heart race.
And I booked it under her name.
The Date That Went Off the Rails
She arrived a little late, as always.
Brittany didn’t like being on time—it was her way of reminding the world that her presence was a privilege.
She breezed through the restaurant’s entrance, and the hostess greeted her with a cheerful, “Ah, Brittany! Your table’s ready.”
She looked surprised but flattered. I stood, pulling out her chair with a polite smile, and she settled in across from me like she owned the place.
“Wow,” she said, scanning the wine list. “This is fancy.”
“You deserve the best,” I replied smoothly, knowing exactly how the night would end.
We ordered appetizers, entrées, dessert—the works. I made sure to request the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu.
Brittany was in heaven, chatting and laughing like everything between us was perfect. And I kept the conversation light, letting her believe everything was fine.
Halfway through the entrée, I glanced at her with a smile. “I need to hit the restroom. Be right back, okay?”
She gave a playful grin. “Don’t keep me waiting.”
I winked, pushed back my chair… and walked straight out of the restaurant.
The Sweet Taste of Payback
The cool night air hit me as I strolled across the street to my car, taking my time.
I sat behind the wheel for a moment, imagining what was happening inside that restaurant.
Brittany, probably still swirling her wine and scrolling through her phone, waiting for me to return like I promised.
Five minutes. Ten.
By the twenty-minute mark, I knew she’d start to fidget. And that’s when my phone buzzed.
“Hey, everything okay? You’ve been gone a while.”
I smirked and let it sit. She’d left me waiting in the middle of a concert—this was nothing but a taste of her own medicine.
A few minutes later, another text came through:
“Seriously, where are you? The waiter’s asking if you’re coming back.”
Then:
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
I could feel her anxiety building with every message. She wasn’t used to being the one left hanging. Not like this.
Finally, the inevitable:
“Wait… are you not coming back??”
I took a deep breath and typed my response carefully:
“Thought I’d be right back. Sound familiar?”
The next message came almost immediately:
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t pay for all this!”
I blocked her number and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, the satisfaction blooming inside me like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.
She could figure it out. Or not.
Either way, getting a taste of your own medicine was definitely something she had coming.