She looks into her
lover's eyes for the last time, thinking about where it all went wrong...
***
That first summer
had been amazing, at least, a halcyon jumble of lust and sound. They had met
through a friend, at a springtime gathering in a pub, or a messy party
somewhere, hard to say now. The mutual attraction had been energizing,
restorative, she had thought she was too far out of teen age to fall so hard
for someone again. During long days between the sheets, he called her his Zooey
Deschanel, she couldn't think of an analogue for him, but there they were
together for hours on end, ignoring the sun, listening to the rain. They talked
about their lives, their hard times, her world-view, his feminist values, he
seemed to just get it immediately. The nights were even longer: in the pub with
his friends, wine for him, her on beer, endless electric debates about worldly
topics. Some of his friends were a little weird, a couple more of them liked
the sound of their own voice a little too much, but everyone had their saving
graces, everyone had a story, and they had gone through a lot together, an
excellent cast of semi-reprobates all told, trying to negotiate their 20s
together. Or on the beach with her friends, the chat a bit lighter, usually,
and then other times not, the friendships a bit less gladiatorial, lots of
grand plans for exciting trips, and ambitious projects up in smoke and
forgotten by the end of the night. And occasionally massive blow-outs, a Berlin
DJ in some warehouse, a festival somewhere in the countryside that could have
done with being slightly less middle-class, everyone agreed, to really go
off. Or ketamine and Youtube parties in dingy flats, or after-work drinks in
over-priced wine bars, or maybe early furtive attempts at posh dinner parties
which always descended into something else. They tried to integrate their
groups a bit, and it worked, but never as much as they'd hoped. But nonetheless
everyone who knew them agreed that they were great for each other, the famous
“cute couple”, if not yet graduated to “power couple”. And laughing, always
laughing, never a cross word, nor a sharp word, nor even a disagreement.
It started in the
autumn. She couldn't say how, or when, or why, just that suddenly now his moods
were a factor. And his indifference. Things he used to find cute now met with
no reaction, even her arrival at his place now less of interest than internet
news he had already read six times today. Good days were as they had always
been, that feeling of falling more in love with every word someone says, and
sometimes she had to pinch herself to stay on the earth. But the bad days.. why
were they having bad days after five months? On the bad days he seemed to be
growing another persona, critical, narky, impatient. Some days he made her feel
stupid. She was not stupid.
In November she
came out of the bathroom at his house to find him reading her messages. “Who's
Jason?” You know who Jason is, he's my colleague... “Why is he sending you so
many messages?” Because we're friends, that's what friends do, no?...
“Something about his tone.. doesn't seem right to me.. He wants to fuck you.”
Well, I don't want to fuck him, I'm taken.. don't you trust me? “Of course I
trust you, I just don't trust this fucking guy.” They could have discussed why
he was reading her messages, but the argument went somewhere else. The abuse of
her privacy didn't seem to cross his mind, but it certainly crossed hers. Not
that they ended up discussing much but his feelings, and Jason's.
He apologised that
night. Of course he did. When they fucked afterwards he was more into it than
he had been for a while, which made one of them. For the first time she felt
scared of him.
They moved in
together after New Year. Sometimes financial reasons overpower all the others.
She told herself that it was the only sensible course of action, that despite
her hesitations, she really loved him. He had gone back to stay with family
without her for a few days over Christmas and they had missed each other
terribly. So it was for the best. He pointed out that they were both struggling
to pay for single rooms. He was right, as usual, he joked.
They were seeing
their friends a bit less now. The gleeful tornado of socialising and meeting
new people from last summer had disappeared. She guessed that was standard in
winter; people hibernate, that's normal; a film and a bottle of wine at home,
the most normal thing in the world. But her best friend was complaining that
they never hung out these days.. “Where have you been hiding?” I'm not hiding,
just trying to save money. “Where have you been hiding?” I'm not hiding, just
trying to go easy on the booze after Christmas. “Where have you been hiding?”
Oh no, I've just been busy at work. Were those things really true? When they
ended up on the sofa until midnight watching another shitty American serial,
wouldn't that time be better spent surviving the winter with friends in a bar?
He didn't seem interested.. the bad days were more frequent now.. he would
criticise what she wore, even when she was visiting her parents. Too ugly, too
short, not ugly enough.. “who are you showing off for?” The good days were..
well, when the weather improved maybe.
Months passed. The
weather improved, but everything else stayed the same. He was stressed at work,
could never be arsed with anything else. They stayed in all the time, every
weekend, sometimes he went for a drink with work friends, or something, but if
she wasn't home on time she knew how he would react, the questions, the
suspicion, the unbearable tension. She knew he still read her messages, the
difference was that he had stopped apologising. “Can you come round on
Saturday, we haven't seen you for ages? Haven't seen your young man for much
longer!” I can't Mum, we're busy. “You're always busy!” Yeah..
She got home in May,
exhausted from all the wankers at the office, the many thousands more on the
train, and the endless pissing rain. He was spitting with rage. “WHY IS THAT
CUNT STILL MESSAGING YOU?” Which cunt? “THAT CUNT JASON!” I haven't seen him
for months, since he got a new job. Jason's infraction had been to send a
Facebook message: “hey, how's u? We should grab a pint sometime.”
“HOW AM I SUPPOSED
TO BELIEVE THAT?” She had never seen this side of him before. Well, almost
never. Not that she tried to think about. The fear started first, then the
tears. “STOP CRYING YOU BITCH, I'M THE ONE WHO'S BEING CHEATED ON.” When he hit
her it felt unreal, like it was happening to someone else. You know it happens
to people, but it's always someone else. It couldn't possibly be me, it could
never be me, I'm strong, I'm independent, I've got a support network, any guy
would know better than to...
Afterwards he was
sobbing. Inconsolable. “That's not who I am.. I am so sorry.. You need to
believe me... Everything will be different from now on.. I know I've been a
prick.. I'll get help.. I'll do anything you want.” Still in shock, she had no
idea what to do, or say. Maybe a thousand times she had run this thought
experiment through in her head, most with an anonymous perpetrator in the
starring role but occasionally with him too. First I'd call my mum, or maybe my
best friend, get out of there immediately, get support. Then later the police.
Everyone would find out what a piece of shit he is. But a thought experiment is
just a thought. And she stayed.
His remorse had
seemed sincere, but here's the thing. Just like cheating, the first time you
get caught, and all seems forgiven, it dulls the stigma for the next time, the
stigma which had been the main safety valve. What comes out of the box comes
out forever. For a few days he was contrite, brought her flowers, made her
favourite meals, they watched the films she loved that he hated. She was still
in shock, but within two weeks his contrition had been replaced by the same
moods as previously, just now with no illusions. The second time it happened it
was not shock she felt, just so powerless and afraid. Afterwards he sat in
silence in the dark for a long time, this time no sobbing, no apology. They
didn't speak again until the next day. Another argument started again
immediately, and she withdrew from the conversation, withdrawing from him and
from herself.
Months passed
again. “Girl, where have you been all my life! Miss u!” No response. “Mate, you
guys up for the pub on Sat? Been ages!” No response. They were in stasis, at
home almost always, watching TV, or online, alone together. Their conversation
had run dry, she knew better by now than to disagree with him. They talked
sometimes, about plans, trips, neither of their hearts really in it.. certain
topics were off limits, because it always ended the same way. Meeting friends
was out of the question, how could he be sure who she was with, despite
monitoring her messages more closely than his own? So after a while she stopped
trying. At work she became more withdrawn, let friendly relationships with
colleagues both male and female become distant, in case of awkward questions.
She spent hours wondering about his self-awareness: how did he understand what
was happening to them? Did he understand it? Did he think about it? How could
he reconcile this with his professed beliefs? With his outward image, the “nice
guy”? Did he reconcile it? Did he care? And she questioned her own.. how did I
get here? How can this be happening to me? TO ME? What have I done to deserve
this? And why can't I leave?
Months passed.
“Really worried about you babe, would love to see ya and catch up, please get
back to me when u can” A contrived response. “Hey! Nah I'm all good, just been
so busy with work and all that, feel like I never have time for anything any
more!” A team effort, that one. Life was like a cage now, claustrophobic and
devoid of air. If no transgression had occurred today he demonstrated a keen
imagination for inventing them, so there was always a pre-text, always. Her
work suffered, there's a limit to how distant and withdrawn you can be in an
open-plan office, and questions were asked at her appraisal. The bosses weren't
monsters, but not people she could talk to, and when she went to the doctor it
was very much the same story. Signed off with depression, her last remaining
excuse for leaving the house was extinguished, and he couldn't disguise his
happiness at that, if happiness is the right word. He controlled her every
action, her every word. He blamed her for what he was doing, said it was
necessary to keep them together, to make the relationship work, that it was out
of love. He told her only he would ever understand her, and she him, and he
couldn't risk losing her. Would do anything to stop that happening.
She lived in a
constant state of fear. Now no day passed without physical violence, and barely
an hour passed without emotional violence. Sometimes she would reflect on the
person she had been before this started, wondered where that person was, and
whether she would come back to save her. Sometimes she would reflect on the
person he had been before, who she had fallen in love with so mercurially that
summer. Was he gone? Had that person even existed? Was he a weak man who got
led astray by the feeling of making someone else's life hell? Or was he always
this? What had she missed? How could she have missed it? What made it worst
were the embers of love that still burned for him, when he did something cute
while sleeping, when he used that funny turn of phrase that no-one else uses
quite the same. When her heart still flutters with pleasure at the words “I
love you”, despite being bookended by... no.
***
He gets home from
work at about the same time as most days. There's never much socialising for
him either now.. working late once a week and that's about it. He's in much the
same mood as usual, swearing about colleagues, fellow commuters, anyone and
everything. She's sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, watching some old
bullshit on TV. Not really watching.. staring straight ahead. He goes to get
changed. “IS THERE ANY WINE LEFT?” Same question as every day.
She goes to pour
him a glass, but the wine she pours was prepared earlier. An afternoon trip to
the hardware store for a secret ingredient, for a special occasion. Returning
to the lounge she hands him the glass and they sit back down on the sofa. She
leans on him and pulls his arm around her, snuggling into his side. It's not
usual, and he seems surprised, but pleasantly so, and wonders what he's done to
deserve it. He takes a long swig on the wine, always a luscious feeling at the
end of the day. He reflects that, all things considered, life could be worse.
Definitely worse without her. “Does this wine taste alright to you? Got a bit of
a weird twang to it.” Nah, should be fine, it's just out of the box..
It's not long
before he feels his throat constricting. As he begins to convulse against her
body she straightens up and their eyes meet. He's panicking, desperate for her
help, and then growing comprehension flickers slowly across his face as she
remains calm.
As she looks into
her lover's eyes for the last time, thinking about where it all went wrong, she
feels that person she was before, sitting beside her, whispering “It's gonna be
okay”.
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