My toxic boyfriend slept with every girl I introduced him to until I set him up with my friend who has gorrhea. My name is Madison and I need to tell you about the most insane year of my life. It started 3 years ago when I met Derek at a coffee shop in downtown Portland. He was exactly the type of guy I always fell for.

Tall, charming smile, worked in tech, and had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room. We h!t it off immediately. He bought my coffee. We talked for 2 hours. And by the end of it, I had butterflies I hadn’t felt since high school. I was 26 at the time, working as a graphic designer for a small marketing firm. My life was pretty simple.

Work, gym, occasional drinks with friends, and way too much Netflix. Dererick felt like this exciting new chapter. We started dating officially after about 3 weeks. He took me to nice restaurants, remembered little things I mentioned in passing, and texted me good morning every single day. My friends all said I seemed happier. My mom loved him when they met over FaceTime. Everything felt perfect.

The first red flag came about 4 months in. My best friend since college, Jessica, was going through a rough breakup. She’d been with this guy for 3 years and he’d just moved across the country without even discussing it with her. She was devastated. So, naturally, I wanted to cheer her up. I invited her to join Dererick and me for dinner one Friday night. Jessica is gorgeous. Like, objectively stunning.

Long dark hair, green eyes, and this effortless style that made everyone turn their heads. But she was my best friend. We’d been through everything together. Bad boyfriends, worst jobs, family drama. She was like my sister. Dinner went great. Dererick was charming and funny. Jessica laughed for the first time in weeks. And I felt like I was doing something good bringing my two worlds together.

We all had a few drinks, shared some appetizers, and made plans to hang out again soon. Two weeks later, Jessica stopped responding to my texts. At first, I didn’t think much of it. She’d mentioned being busy with work, and I figured she was just processing her breakup in her own way. But then, a full week went by with nothing. No responses, no calls, nothing.

I started to worry, was she okay? Had something happened? I showed up at her apartment one evening after work. I knocked for like 5 minutes before she finally opened the door. She looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she had this look on her face that I’ll never forget. Guilt mixed with shame mixed with sadness.

“Jess, what’s wrong?” I asked, pushing past her into the apartment. She just started crying, full-on sobbing. I held her for a while, completely confused, until she finally pulled away and looked at me. “I did something terrible,” she said. My stomach dropped. “What happened?” “It was a mistake. I was drunk and upset, and he was just there.” “And who was there?” “What are you talking about?” She couldn’t look at me.

“Derek, I felt like the floor had disappeared beneath me.” “Derek, my Derek?” She nodded, tears streaming down her face. It happened the night after we all had dinner. He texted me asking if I was okay and we started talking. And then he invited me over to his place because you were working late. And Madison, I’m so sorry. It just happened. I don’t remember what I said next.

I think I just left. I walked out of her apartment in a days, got in my car, and drove to Dererick’s place. He was home watching TV on his couch like nothing was wrong. When I walked in, he smiled at me like he always did. Hey babe, I wasn’t expecting you tonight. Did you sleep with Jessica? I asked. No buildup, no small talk, just straight to it. His smile faltered for a split second.

I saw something in his eyes. panic maybe or calculation, but then he recovered. What? No, Madison, where is this coming from? She told me everything. He stood up, walking toward me with his hands out like he was approaching a scared animal. Baby, I don’t know what she told you, but nothing happened. She’s probably just confused because of her breakup. You know how emotional she’s been.

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly, but I’d seen Jessica’s face. I’d seen her guilt. She’s lying, Dererick insisted. I would never do that to you. You’re everything to me. We fought for hours that night. He swore up and down that Jessica was making it up. that maybe she had feelings for him and was trying to sabotage our relationship. He was so convincing that by the end of it, I actually started to doubt Jessica.

I know how that sounds. I know. But when you love someone and they’re looking you in the eye, telling you one thing while your friend is telling you another, your brain does these mental gymnastics to avoid the pain. I chose to believe Derek. I cut off Jessica completely, blocked her number, unfriended her on everything, and told our mutual friends that she’d betrayed me. Some of them took my side.

Others stayed neutral or slowly drifted away. My whole social circle got messy. Dererick was extra attentive after that. More date nights, more gifts, more I love yous. He made me feel like I’d made the right choice. Like Jessica had been the problem all along. Three months went by. Things were good. Or at least I thought they were. Then I introduced him to Amber.

Amber was a co-orker at my marketing firm. She just moved to Portland from California and didn’t know anyone in the city. She was sweet, a little shy, and seemed lost in the social aspects of the office. I felt bad for her eating lunch alone every day. So I started inviting her to join our little workg group. We became friends pretty quickly.

She was easy to talk to and genuinely kind. When she mentioned she didn’t have plans for Thanksgiving and her family was all the way in San Diego, I invited her to join Dererick and me at his family’s dinner. Big mistake. Amber and Dererick got along great. They talked about California since he’d gone to college in Los Angeles. They laughed at the same jokes. His family loved her. On the drive home, Dererick mentioned how nice it was that I’d made such a good friend.

The following week at work, Amber seemed different, distant. She’d avoid eye contact with me in meetings and stopped joining us for lunch. I cornered her one day in the break room. Did I do something wrong? I asked. She looked like she might cry. “No, Madison, you didn’t do anything wrong. Then why are you avoiding me?” She bit her lip, clearly wrestling with something.

Finally, she said, “I need to tell you something. But you’re going to hate me.” My bl00d ran cold. No, not again. Dererick and I, we’ve been texting since Thanksgiving. And last weekend when you told me you were visiting your parents, he invited me to his place and she trailed off, but I didn’t need her to finish. I felt numb.

Like my body was there, but my mind was somewhere far away. I didn’t know he was going to. I thought we were just hanging out as friends and then he kissed me and I should have stopped it, but I didn’t. And I’m so sorry, Madison. I’m so so sorry. I walked out of the break room without saying a word. Went back to my desk, gathered my things, and left work early. I didn’t go to Dererick’s place this time. I didn’t confront him.

I just went home and sat in my apartment in silence. Two girls, two of my friends, both with the same story. That’s when I started to see the pattern. I thought back to other friends I’d introduced to Derek over the past year. There was Riley, who’d suddenly stopped coming to our game nights. There was Brooklyn, who’d moved to Seattle kind of abruptly.

There was Kayla, who I’d had a weird falling out with over something I couldn’t even remember now. How many of them had he slept with? How many had been too ashamed or scared to tell me? I felt sick, but I still didn’t leave him. I know. I know you’re reading this thinking I’m an idiot, and you’re right. But here’s the thing about toxic relationships that people don’t understand until they’re in one. They mess with your head. Dererick had spent a year making me feel like I was the problem.

Like I was too jealous, too insecure, too quick to believe rumors. He’d isolated me from my friends, made me doubt my own judgment, and convinced me that he was the only person who really understood me. So when I confronted him about Amber and he cried, actually cried and told me that she’d come on to him and he’d made a terrible mistake, but it meant nothing and he loved only me.

I believed him again or I wanted to believe him. He promised to cut off all contact with Amber. He said he’d go to therapy. He said he’d do whatever it took to make this right. I stayed. Another 6 months went by. He did go to therapy. Three sessions anyway. He made a big show of working on himself. And I made myself small. So small, trying to be the perfect girlfriend who didn’t make him want to cheat.

I stopped introducing him to my friends. Actually, I stopped having friends. It was easier that way. No temptation for him. No heartbreak for me. Just Derek and me in our little bubble. My mom noticed something was wrong when I went home for Christmas. She asked if everything was okay with Derek and I lied and said things were perfect. I’d become really good at lying.

Then in February, I ran into Jessica at a grocery store. We both froze when we saw each other. She looked good. Healthier than the last time I’d seen her. She was with a guy I didn’t recognize holding his hand. “Madison,” she said softly. “Hey,” I replied, trying to figure out if I should just turn around and leave. “Can we talk just for a minute?” I looked at the guy she was with.

He smiled and said, “I’ll wait in the car.” before kissing her cheek and walking away. Seemed like a nice guy. Jessica and I stood there in the freezer aisle and I waited for her to speak. “I know you probably hate me,” she started. “And you have every right to, but I need you to know that I wasn’t lying.

” “Derek did sleep with me and I know that doesn’t make it okay. I still made the choice to do it, but he’s not who you think he is, Madison. He told me you guys were on a break. He said you’d been fighting constantly and were basically over. We weren’t on a break,” I said quietly. “I know that now.” After you cut me off, I felt terrible.

I tried to reach out to Dererick to figure out how to fix things and he told me to leave him alone and stop trying to break you two up. That’s when I realized he’d played me. He’d played both of us. I felt tears building up but refused to let them fall in the middle of a Safeway.

Has he done it to anyone else? Jessica asked. Since me? I nodded. At least one other that I know of. Probably more. Jessica looked at me with this mix of pity and frustration. Madison, you need to leave him. He’s never going to change. Guys like that don’t change. I know, I whispered. And I did know. But knowing and doing are two different things.

We exchanged numbers again before parting ways. She made me promise to call her if I ever needed anything. I didn’t plan on calling her, but I also couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said about Dererick lying to her, telling her we were on a break. Had he told Amber the same thing? Had he told all of them the same thing? I started paying attention to Dererick’s phone. Not in an obvious way, but just noticing things.

How he’d tilted away from me when texting. How he’d suddenly get up and leave the room to take certain calls. How he’d started using a passcode that I didn’t know. One night in March, he fell asleep on my couch after we’d been drinking wine and watching movies. His phone was on the coffee table and I grabbed it before I could talk myself out of it. I didn’t know his passcode, but I tried a few obvious ones. His birthday, my birthday, nothing.

Then I tried the date we started dating and it unlocked. My hands were shaking as I opened his messages. There were so many, so so many girls from his work, girls from his gym, random girls from dating apps. Yeah, he was still on dating apps. But what made me feel physically ill was seeing names I recognized. Riley, Brooklyn, Kayla, all of them.

He’d slept with all of them. And there were messages with someone named Haley that were recent. like from that day. They were planning to meet up that weekend while I was supposed to be at a work conference in Seattle. I took screenshots of everything and sent them to my own phone. Then I put his phone back exactly where it was and went to my bedroom. I didn’t sleep that night.

I just lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling like my entire life had been a lie. The next morning, Dererick left for work like nothing was wrong. He kissed me goodbye and told me he’d miss me while I was in Seattle. I smiled and said I’d miss him, too. But I wasn’t going to Seattle. I’d never planned to go to Seattle. I’d made up the conference to test him, to see if he’d make plans with someone else. and he had. I called in sick to work.

Then I called Jessica. “I need your help,” I said when she answered. “We met at a coffee shop an hour later.” I showed her the screenshots. I told her everything, and I finally finally admitted that I needed to leave him. I’ll help you however I can, Jessica said. Do you want me to come with you when you get your stuff from his place? Eventually, I said, “But first, I want to make sure he can’t do this to anyone else.

” Jessica raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Here’s where the story takes a turn. I didn’t just want to break up with Dererick and move on. I wanted him to face consequences. I wanted him to understand that actions have repercussions and I wanted to protect other women from going through what I’d been through. I’m going to ruin him, I said simply. Jessica looked concerned.

Madison, I get that you’re angry, but not like that, I interrupted. I’m not going to do anything illegal or crazy. I’m just going to make sure everyone knows who he really is. I started with social media. I created a post detailing everything, the cheating, the lying, the manipulation. I didn’t name names of the other women to protect them, but I was very clear about Dererick’s behavior. I tagged him in it and posted it to my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

Within an hour, the post had been shared hundreds of times. Women I didn’t even know were commenting with their own stories about Derek. Apparently, I wasn’t his first long-term girlfriend he cheated on. There was an ex from college who’d gone through something similar. Another ex from his early 20s. The post went viral in our local community. Dererick’s phone was blowing up. He called me 17 times in a row.

I didn’t answer. Then I emailed his boss at the tech company where he worked. I didn’t say anything inflammatory. I just shared that Dererick had been using company resources and time to meet women from dating apps and conduct affairs and included screenshots showing him messaging women during work hours from his work computer. Yes, he’d been dumb enough to mention that in texts.

His company had a pretty strict policy about personal conduct, especially anything that could be considered harassment or inappropriate workplace behavior. They launched an investigation, but I wasn’t done. I reached out to every single woman whose name I’d found in his phone.

I sent them all the screenshots showing that he’d been talking to multiple women at once, lying to all of them. Some didn’t respond, some thanked me. A few told me their own horror stories about him. One of them was Haley, the girl he was supposed to meet up with that weekend. She’d had no idea he had a girlfriend. When I told her, she was furious at him, not me.

She said he’d been telling her for months that he was single and looking for something serious. Haley and I actually became friends after that. She was cool. Worked in marketing like me. We got coffee a few times and bonded over what a disaster Derrick was. But Dererick didn’t go down quietly. He made his own social media posts, calling me a crazy ex-girlfriend who was obsessed and spreading lies.

He tried to turn mutual acquaintances against me. He showed up at my apartment multiple times, begging me to take him down, saying I was ruining his life. “You ruined your own life,” I told him through my locked door. “He left, threatening voicemails. He tried to get me fired from my job by calling my boss and saying I was harassing him.

Thankfully, my boss was a woman who’d heard similar stories before and didn’t buy his act. Eventually, Dererick’s company put him on administrative leave while they investigated. His social life was destroyed. All our mutual friends had taken my side once they saw the evidence. And word had spread enough in Portland’s tech scene that he was basically blacklisted from the industry. He ended up moving back to Los Angeles to stay with his parents and start over.

I heard through the grapevine that he’d gotten a job at some startup down there. I thought that was the end of it. I thought I’d gotten my revenge, exposed him for who he was, and could finally move on with my life. But then about 3 months after Dererick left Portland, I got a message from a number I didn’t recognize. Hi Madison, my name is Christina.

I know this is going to sound weird, but I’m Dererick’s new girlfriend. I live in LA. I found your social media posts about him, and I need to know, is everything you said true? My heart sank. He was doing it again already. I called Christina immediately. We talked for over 2 hours. I sent her all the screenshots I still had saved. I told her everything. She cried. She thanked me.

She said she’d been dating him for 6 weeks and already had a weird feeling something was off. Christina broke up with him that day and she did something I hadn’t even thought to do. She created a whole website about him. She called it, “Is Derek Morrison your boyfriend?” A warning.

The website detailed Dererick’s pattern of behavior, included testimonials from me and several other women, and came up as the first result when you Googled his name. It was brutal. It was perfect. Christina and I became long-distance friends after that. She was fierce in a way I wished I’d been earlier. She made sure Dererick couldn’t easily victimize anyone else. Or so we thought, because 6 months later, I got another message. This time from a girl named Nicole in Denver.

Dererick had moved to Colorado and was up to his old tricks. Nicole had found the website before getting too involved with him. But she had a friend, Madison. Yes, another Madison, which was weird, who’d already slept with him and was now ghosting her. This pattern continued. Every few months, I’d hear from a new woman in a new city.

Dererick kept moving, kept starting over, kept finding new victims. The website helped, but it couldn’t stop everyone. Some women didn’t think to Google him. Some didn’t believe the warnings. Some thought they’d be different, that they could change him. It was exhausting and depressing. I’d exposed him, ruined his reputation, done everything I could think of, and he was still out there hurting people. That’s when I started to feel like maybe revenge wasn’t as satisfying as I’d hoped.

Sure, I’d gotten him fired and run out of Portland, but so what? He’d just moved and started over. He was like a cockroach, impossible to fully get rid of. I went to therapy. I talked about Derek, about my own choices in staying with him, about the revenge and whether it had really helped.

My therapist helped me understand that I’d been looking for external validation and justice when what I really needed was to heal internally and forgive myself. It helped. I started to feel better. I dated a little bit, though nothing serious. I reconnected with old friends, including Jessica, who’d been incredibly supportive through everything. I got a promotion at work. Life was actually pretty good. Then about a year after Dererick had left Portland, I met Vanessa at a party.

Vanessa was loud, funny, and completely unapologetic about who she was. She worked as a bartender at a club downtown and had the best stories. We h!t it off immediately and made plans to hang out the following week. Over drinks, we got on the topic of terrible ex-boyfriends. I told her about Derek.

She listened intently, asked questions, and then said something that caught me off guard. Want to know something crazy? I think I might have given your ex an STD. I nearly spit out my drink. What? She laughed. Okay, so I have this theory that Dererick and I hooked up about two years ago. You said he’s tall, works in tech, has a tattoo of a compass on his shoulder. Oh my god, that’s him.

Yeah, we matched on Tinder and hooked up a few times. He told me he was single. Then one day, he just ghosted me. But here’s the kicker. I found out a few weeks later that I had gorrhea. I texted him to let him know he should get tested and he blocked me. He gave you gorrhea. I was stunned or I gave it to him. Either way, one of us was patient zero in that situation.

I got treated obviously, but I have no idea if he ever did. For all I know, he’s out there spreading it around. And that’s when the idea h!t me. The actual revenge that would mean something. Vanessa, I said slowly. Do you still have gorrhea? She laughed. What? No. I got that cleared up like 2 years ago. Why? Damn, I said mostly to myself. Why would you? Oh my god.

Vanessa’s eyes went wide. Madison, are you thinking what I think you’re thinking? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I said innocently. You want to give Derek an STD as revenge? I would never do that, I said. But my mind was racing. Could I? Should I? Was that completely insane? That’s so messed up, Vanessa said. But she was grinning. Also kind of genius. also completely crazy.

Also, I kind of love it. It’s just a thought. I said, I’m not actually going to do anything, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Here’s the thing. I’m not a vengeful person by nature. The social media posts and the email to his work had felt justified because I was just telling the truth. But actively giving someone an STD, that was different. That was potentially illegal.

That was definitely unethical, but it would also be poetic justice, wouldn’t it? Dererick had been spreading emotional disease for years, infecting women’s lives with his lies and manipulation. Maybe he deserved to deal with an actual infection for once. I told myself I wasn’t going to do anything.

I went home that night and tried to forget about the conversation, but then I got another message, this time from a girl named Emma in Austin, Texas. Dererick had moved again. Emma had found the website, but too late. He’d already cheated on her with three different women and given her chlamyia. I had to call my previous partners and tell them to get tested. Emma wrote, “It was humiliating, and Dererick won’t even respond to my messages.

I don’t know if he got treated or if he’s out there giving it to other people.” That’s when I snapped. I called Vanessa. Do you know anyone who currently has gorrhea? She was quiet for a second. Then, “Are you serious right now?” “Dead serious, Madison, I cannot be an accessory to whatever you’re planning.” “You’re right. Forget I asked.” Another pause then.

But hypothetically, if I did know someone, what would you want me to do? Introduce her to Derek. Let nature take its course. Vanessa sighed deeply. You know this is crazy, right? Like absolutely batshit crazy. I know. And probably illegal, probably. And definitely makes you as bad as him. That gave me pause. Was I as bad as Dererick if I did this? Was I stooping to his level? Or was this just karma finally catching up to him? Maybe I admitted, but I don’t care anymore. He’s out there hurting people. Vanessa, he gave Emma chlamyia and didn’t even tell her. He’s a walking biohazard. Someone needs to

stop him. And that someone is you? Self-appointed STD vigilante. When you say it like that, it sounds bad. Vanessa laughed despite herself. Because it is bad, Madison. Look, I get it. I really do. But this isn’t going to make you feel better. Trust me, she was probably right. But I was beyond rational thought at this point. I’d spent 2 years of my life with Derek. I’d lost friends.

I’d lost time. I’d lost part of myself to his manipulation. and he was still out there doing the same things to other women, facing no real consequences. Just think about it, I said to Vanessa. That’s all I’m asking. You’re insane, she said. But she didn’t say no. We hung up and I sat with my thoughts for a long time.

Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to cross this line? The answer I decided was no. It was too far, too risky, too wrong. But then 2 weeks later, Vanessa called me. Okay, so don’t get mad. She started. That’s never a good way to start a conversation. I said, “I have a friend. Well, a friend of a friend.

Her name is Tiffany and she might have gorrhea currently, like right now. My heart started racing. Vanessa, listen, before you get all excited, she’s going to get treated. She just found out a few days ago and has a doctor’s appointment next week. But I mentioned your situation, not any details, just that you had a toxic ex. And she said something interesting. What did she say? She said her ex gave her gorrhea and then ghosted her when she tried to tell him.

And she’s been thinking about how unfair it is that guys like that face no consequences. So I told her hypothetically, what if there was a way to make a guy like your ex face consequences? Vanessa, what did you do? Nothing. I just planted a seed. Tiffany’s the one who said she’d be interested in meeting your ex before getting treated. You know, karma and all that. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

So, you’re saying this girl, Tiffany, would be willing to knowingly sleep with Derek while she has gorrhea? I’m saying she’s open to a conversation. But Madison, you need to think really carefully about this. Once you cross this line, you can’t uncross it. She was right. This was a point of no return. If I went through with this, I was no longer the victim. I was the villain or maybe the anti-hero.

I honestly didn’t know anymore. Let me meet her, I said. I just want to talk to her. Vanessa set up a meeting for that weekend. The three of us met at a quiet bar on the east side of town. Tiffany was not what I expected. She was a school teacher in her early 30s, dressed conservatively with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. She looked like someone who’d never done anything morally questionable in her life.

So, Vanessa tells me you have a toxic ex who needs to be taught a lesson. Tiffany said after we’d ordered drinks, I gave her the full story. Everything. The cheating, the lying, the manipulation, the STD he’d given Emma. When I finished, Tiffany nodded slowly. My ex gave me gorrhea and then blocked my number, she said quietly. I felt so violated, not just physically, but emotionally.

He knew he had it and didn’t tell me. I had to call my sister and tell her to get tested because we’d shared drinks a few times. It was mortifying. I’m so sorry, I said sincerely. The thing is, Tiffany continued. I’m not a vengeful person. I teach second grade. I believe in kindness and forgiveness and all that, but some people don’t deserve forgiveness.

Some people deserve to understand what it feels like to be on the receiving end of their own cruelty. So, you’d really do this? I asked. You’d really sleep with Derek before I get treated? Yeah, I think I would. Not because I want to hurt him necessarily, but because he should know what it’s like. He should have to deal with the doctor’s appointments, the antibiotics, the embarrassment of calling past partners.

He should face at least one real consequence for his actions. It felt surreal to be sitting there plotting this, like I was in a movie or a fever dream. But it was real and it was happening, and I had to decide if I was really going to go through with it. “Okay,” I said, “Finally, let’s do it.” The plan was simple.

I still had access to Dererick’s social media. He’d never blocked me because he thought I’d moved on. I could see that he was back in Portland for work, staying for a few weeks. He’d posted about it on his Instagram. Vanessa created a fake Tinder profile for Tiffany using photos that were flattering but not reverse image searchable. We crafted a bio that would appeal to Dererick’s type.

New to Portland, love hiking, craft beer, and intelligent conversation. Not here for games. Then Vanessa swiped right on Derrick’s profile. It took less than 12 hours for him to match and message her. His opening line was painfully predictable. Hey, beautiful. What brings you to Portland? Tiffany played it perfectly. She was flirty but not too eager.

interesting, but not too available. She mentioned she was only in town for a couple weeks for work and was looking to meet new people. Derrick ate it up. Within 3 days, they’d moved from Tinder to texting. Within a week, they’d planned a date. I felt sick the entire time. What we were doing was wrong.

I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop it. Or maybe I didn’t want to stop it. The night of their date, Tiffany texted me updates. They’d met at a wine bar. Dererick was exactly as charming as you described. They were having good conversation. He’d already lied about his job and his relationship history.

At the end of the night, Dererick invited Tiffany back to his hotel. She said, “Yes, I didn’t sleep that night. I kept my phone next to me, waiting for Tiffany’s message that it was done.” At 2:47 a.m., my phone buzzed. “It’s done.” I felt a rush of emotions I couldn’t untangle. Relief, satisfaction, guilt, horror, all of it mixed together into something I didn’t have a name for. Tiffany came over to my apartment the next morning. She looked tired but calm.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t regret it if that’s what you’re asking, but I also don’t feel as good about it as I thought I would.” “Revenge is weird like that. Tell me about it,” I said, “He’s exactly like you described,” Tiffany continued. “Super charming, great at making you feel special if I didn’t know his history. I would have fallen for it completely.

” “I can see why you stayed with him for so long. Did he? Was he safe?” I asked, even though I knew the answer, Tiffany shook her head. “I brought condoms, but he said he didn’t like using them. Said he was clean and assumed I was, too.” “Of course he did,” I muttered. “I’m going to get treated this week,” Tiffany said. “And then I’m going to try to forget this ever happened. But Madison, I think you need to forget about Derek, too.

This whole revenge thing, it’s not healthy. It’s not going to make you feel better.” I know, I said. And I did know, but knowing and feeling are different things. Tiffany left and I sat alone in my apartment wondering what I’d become. I’d orchestrated giving my ex-boyfriend an STD. That was who I was now. That was what Dererick had turned me into.

I didn’t tell anyone else about what we’d done. Not Jessica, not any of the other women Dererick had hurt. It was my secret, my shame, my revenge. Weeks went by. I didn’t hear anything from Derek, which wasn’t surprising since we hadn’t spoken in over a year. But I checked his social media obsessively, looking for what? A post about going to the doctor? a cryptic message about karma.

I didn’t know. Then about 3 weeks after the date, I got a message from Emma, the girl in Austin who Dererick had given chlamyia to. OMG, Madison, you’re not going to believe this. Dererick just texted me asking if I knew any good doctors in Austin. When I asked why, he said he needed to get tested for something.

I told him, “Good [ __ ] luck finding a doctor who will treat him without insurance because apparently his company dropped his coverage when they fired him. Karma is real.” I stared at that message for a long time. He’d gotten tested, which meant he knew, which meant he was presumably getting treated, which meant the revenge had worked in a sense, but I didn’t feel triumphant. I felt hollow.

The thing about revenge is that it doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t undo the pain or the time you lost or the person you became. It just adds more mess to an already messy situation. Tiffany was right. Revenge is weird. It gives you a momentary sense of satisfaction followed by a lasting sense of emptiness. I realized I didn’t want to be the person who gave her ex an STD.

I didn’t want to be defined by Derek anymore, not even as the person who’d gotten back at him. I just wanted to move on. So, I deleted his contact info. I stopped checking his social media. I blocked him everywhere I hadn’t already. And I made peace with the fact that Dererick would probably always be Derek.

A charming, manipulative person who hurt people and rarely faced real consequences except for the gorrhea. He faced that consequence. Life moved on. I started dating someone new, a genuinely nice guy named Ryan, who worked as a veterinarian and treated me like a human being. Jessica and I were closer than ever. My career was going well.

I was happy, or at least I was getting there. Then, six months after the Tiffany incident, I got a Facebook friend request from someone named Rachel Morrison. I almost ignored it, but something made me click on her profile. She was older, maybe mid-50s, and her location was listed as Los Angeles. When I looked through her photos, I saw one that made my bl00d run cold.

It was a family photo. Rachel, an older man who must be her husband, and a younger man I recognized immediately. Derek. Rachel was Dererick’s mother. I accepted the friend request, my heart pounding. Why would Dererick’s mom be adding me? Did she know about everything? Was she going to yell at me, threaten me? A message from her popped up immediately. “Hi, Madison.

I know this is probably strange, but I need to talk to you about my son. Would you be willing to call me?” I called her. “I don’t know why, maybe curiosity. Maybe some lingering need for closure,” Rachel answered on the first ring. Her voice was kind, but tired. “Thank you for calling,” she said. “I know you and Dererick had a difficult relationship.

I won’t pretend to know all the details, but I’ve gathered enough from what I’ve seen online and what Dererick’s told me to understand that he hurt you badly.” Mrs. Morrison. If this is about the social media posts, I No, no, she interrupted. I’m not calling to defend Derek. I’m calling to apologize. That threw me. Apologize. Dererick is my son and I love him, but I’m not blind to who he is.

I’ve watched him hurt people his entire life, women, friends, co-workers. He’s charming and intelligent and completely self-centered. And a lot of that is my fault. I don’t understand, I said. Rachel sighed deeply. His father and I divorced when Dererick was seven. His father cheated on me repeatedly, flaunted it, and never faced any consequences.

He’d charm his way out of every situation and I’d take him back every time until I finally couldn’t anymore. Dererick learned from watching that he learned that charisma can get you out of anything, that people are disposable, that consequences are for other people. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve tried to talk to Dererick about his behavior over the years.

Rachel continued, I’ve begged him to go to real therapy to understand why he does what he does, but he won’t. He thinks he’s fine. He thinks everyone else is the problem, and I’ve enabled that by always being there to help him when his life falls apart. Why are you telling me this? I ask. Because I want you to know that what Dererick did to you wasn’t your fault. None of it was.

And I want to thank you for finally making him face some consequences. The social media posts, the job loss, all of it. It’s the first time in his life that his actions have really caught up with him. I don’t think any of it made a difference, I said. Honestly, he’s still out there doing the same things. I know, Rachel said sadly. But at least now there’s a record.

Other women can Google him and find out who he really is. That’s something. And maybe eventually he’ll look at himself and realize he needs to change. I doubt it, but I have to hope. We talked for about an hour. Rachel told me stories about Dererick’s childhood, about his father, about her own regrets as a parent. It was sad and strange and oddly healing.

By the end of the conversation, I felt like I understood Derrick better, even if that understanding didn’t excuse anything he’d done. “I hope you’re doing well, Madison,” Rachel said before we hung up. “You seem like a lovely person.” “Don’t let what my son did define you.” “Thank you, Mrs. Morrison. I’m trying not to.” After that call, something shifted in me. I realized that Dererick was a product of his environment, his upbringing, his father’s behavior.

That didn’t excuse his actions, but it contextualized them, and it helped me finally let go of the anger I’d been carrying. I never told Rachel about the gorrhea. I figured that was a secret I’d take to my grave. Only Vanessa, Tiffany, and I knew, and we’d all agreed never to speak of it again. Life continued. Ryan, and I got serious. We moved in together. I got another promotion.

Jessica got engaged to the guy I’d met her with at the grocery store. Everything was falling into place. Then, almost 2 years after the Tiffany incident, I got one final message about Derek. It was from a woman named Lindsay. She’d seen the website Christina had made and wanted to thank me for creating it even though I hadn’t. Christina deserved all the credit for that because of your website.

I was able to avoid Derek completely, Lindsay wrote. He tried to match with me on Bumble, but I Googled him first. When I saw everything, I not only didn’t match with him. I screenshot his profile and shared it in a local women’s group to warn others. Several women said they had also encountered him and had similar experiences.

We’ve basically blacklisted him from the dating scene here in Denver. Just wanted you to know that your bravery and speaking out probably saved a lot of women from getting hurt. I read that message three times and for the first time in years, I felt like maybe, just maybe, all the drama and revenge and mess had been worth something.

Not because Dererick had been punished, but because other women had been protected, because speaking out had created a ripple effect that went beyond my own pain. I never heard from or about Derek again after that. I have no idea where he is now or what he’s doing. Maybe he moved to another country and started over. Maybe he finally went to therapy and worked on himself. Maybe he found someone who could tolerate his behavior. I don’t know, and I don’t care. What I do know is this. I wasted two years of my life on Derek.

And I spent another year consumed by revenge. Three years total that I’ll never get back. But those three years also taught me about myself, my strength, my weaknesses, my capacity for both forgiveness and pettiness. They taught me what I will and won’t tolerate in relationships. They taught me that revenge might feel good in the moment, but rarely provides lasting satisfaction.

And they taught me that the best revenge isn’t giving your ex an STD or ruining his career. The best revenge is living well, moving on, and becoming someone who would never tolerate that kind of treatment again. Though I have to admit, the gonorrhea thing was pretty satisfying, too. Ryan proposed last month. We’re getting married in the fall. Jessica is my maid of honor. Vanessa is a bridesmaid.

Even Christina is flying out from LA to attend. We’ve all become this weird little support group of women who’ve dealt with toxic men and live to tell the tale. Sometimes when we’re all together, someone will make a joke about Derek. We’ll laugh about his ridiculous lies or his terrible tattoo or the time he tried to claim he’d invented some tech thing that already existed. The jokes have lost their edge now.

They’re just funny stories about a guy who turned out to be a disaster. And sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep, I wonder if Dererick ever thinks about me, if he ever regrets what he did, if he ever got that gonarrhea treated, or if he’s still out there spreading it around like he spread his lies. But mostly, I just don’t think about Dererick at all anymore. And that more than any revenge I could have planned is the real victory.

Though, if I’m being completely honest, I still check the website Christina made about once a year just to see if there are any new comments. The most recent one from 3 months ago was from a woman in Miami who wrote, “Derek Morrison tried to match with me on Hinge. Thanks to this site, I dodged a bullet. Keep fighting the good fight, ladies.