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Once, I humiliated a man to some people he desired to be friends with after I repeatedly resisted his advances by showing them some particularly unflattering texts he had sent me. My goal was never to humiliate him, but he was certifiably humiliated nonetheless -- I learned of such after he confronted me on the interaction some time after it occurred. It wasn't all that hostile -- his confrontation I mean -- in that way that a man acts when he's frustrated with you but totally and indelibly wrapped around your finger; not to say he was as infatuated with me as he was with the idea of being with me -- after all, there's only one thing no man can resist: himself. The whole ordeal would hardly have been a sentence anywhere my hand should write over, if not for a single accusation he made to me; it was rather late in an early winter evening, sat upon a faux leather couch which felt red, that he said to me, "Y'know, you're a special kind of heartbreaker. Yo...