It was Valentine’s Day. Broken shards of glass crunched under my feet as I crept through the wreckage that used to be my home. The place was in pretty bad shape. The TV was smashed, all furniture was slashed and the word “cheater” was scrawled across the walls, written in bright red lipstick.
I remained calm, knowing that if I gave in to any of the emotions I felt, the flood gates would open. The fear, the anger, the sadness. It was impossible to discern which one was strongest. I surveyed the damage, steadily pacing through the shattered remnants of my life. Each room was as bad as the last. I started to head upstairs where I heard a soft whimpering emanating from my bedroom. Fearing the worst, I peeled the door open, unveiling Claire, handcuffed to my bed.
I’ll start from the beginning.
I was in what I thought was a pretty decent relationship with my college sweetheart, Emma. We’d been together for a few years and honestly, I was convinced we were gonna spend the rest of our lives with each other. Things seemed to change though when I gave her the key to my house.
I wanted her to move in, but instead of accepting my attempt at a romantic gesture, it triggered something sinister inside of her. She became erratic, accusing me of offering the key to distract from what was really going on. For some reason, she’d gotten it into her head that I was cheating on her. I never did though - well, not really. There were a few times during college that I got with a couple of her friends, but it was before we were official, and aside from a few passive aggressions here and there, there was never an issue made out of it.
Emma had always been quite stubborn - and once something was in her head, she wouldn’t let it go. She became increasingly unstable towards the end and things reached a boiling point one weekend after a few too many drinks. Despite my desperate assurance that nothing was going on, she wouldn’t stop screaming at me and eventually, we broke up.
It wasn’t too long after that a message came through on Facebook from Claire, who was one of Emma’s friends from back in the day. It was the usual ‘long time no see’ kind of shtick, but her intentions were abundantly clear from the off, which were cemented when she said we should go for coffee sometime.
It had barely been a fortnight since the break-up, but I was feeling pretty lonely and at the very least thought it’d be a nice rebound hook-up. I met up with Claire in town and we hit it off, so over the course of the next couple of weeks, coffee turned to drinks at a bar, which naturally resulted in me inviting her back to mine.
We pulled up outside my house, but before we even got out of the taxi I could see a pool of red trickling down the path. Scrawled across my door from frame to frame, the word “cheater” in huge letters. It must have been a quick job because the bucket of paint and the brush were still there. I recognised them instantly - they’d both been taken from my shed.
Claire barely paid any attention to it, but I was embarrassed beyond belief. “What a psycho,” she said as she slunk her arm into my jacket, caressing the small of my back so intimately that I almost didn’t even care. She picked up the brush and calmly, yet quite seductively, began making long strokes on the wood. “This is a better colour anyway,” she assured me before dabbing a splash of paint on my nose. “Why don’t you go take a shower while I finish up?”
I wasn’t thinking with my head at this point - it was an offer that no man could refuse. I’d already showered in the morning, but went up anyway to make sure I was extra clean. When I emerged, Claire was sprawled out on the sofa, armed with bottle of wine and two glasses.
I’ll spare you the sordid details of what happened next, but I completely forgot about Emma. That was until a little later, when I opened up my phone to check my messages and found that I was locked out of all my socials. I tried logging into Facebook, but someone had changed my password.
I searched for my account and the embarrassment I felt earlier resurfaced when I saw my latest status update: “I’m a cheater” it read. Scrolling through, it had been posted several times. I checked Twitter and was greeted with the same announcement. I shot to me feet, pacing back and forth as I slapped my cheeks.
Claire stood behind me, rubbing my shoulders, trying to calm me down, but the fuse had already been blown. “I have to call her,” I muttered. My hands shook from adrenaline as I searched through my phone book for her number.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea - she’s clearly obsessed,” Claire said, but then a little smile emerged. “Well, maybe you just need to let her know that it’s over.”
I called Emma, who picked up almost instantaneously. “Hey, how are you doing?” she mumbled softly through tears. I have to admit, hearing her in an upset state made my heart melt a little and I might have gone easier on her if Claire wasn’t there for the support. I didn’t hold back. I screamed at her the same way she’d screamed at me weeks ago, not giving her the chance to explain her psychotic behaviour. Without listening to her reply, I hung up.
She called me back seconds later, but Claire snatched the phone from me, tossing it down onto the sofa to free up both of our hands.
“Ready for round two?” she smirked. Again, I won’t go into details, but the rest of the weekend was pretty wild. Things were going pretty well - it seemed like I had indeed rebounded. Fast forward to Valentine’s Day.
After I’d finished work, I arrived home and was confronted with the nightmare scenario I described earlier. I had to unscrew a post from my bed, allowing Claire to slip the cuff off. I called the police and they came round to take our statements.
I listened in horror as Claire described the ordeal. She said she was sleeping at the time. She woke up to the sound of crashing, chained up like a dog. She didn’t see the intruder, but said she could hear a woman’s voice shouting “cheater” while the house got turned inside out.
The suspect was obvious - the disgruntled ex-girlfriend with a key to my house. We gave the officers Emma’s details and they went over to hers to arrest her. Later that night as me and Claire were in the midst of sweeping all the broken glass, there was a knock at the door. The police were back.
“What did she say?” I enquired. “Did she admit it?”
The officer shook his head. He looked over my shoulder at Claire.
“Do you mind coming over to the station, miss? We have a few questions we want to ask.”
“She’s been through enough!”
“It won’t take long,” he assured us. Claire froze on the spot for a second. She sighed and threw down the broom before slinking over to me. She placed her hands on my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye.
“Why don’t you start on dinner? There’s wine in my bag,” she whispered before being escorted to the car. I felt so guilty. Claire had become part of my life and the baggage attached to it, so I was determined to make it up to her in some way - at the very least, I hoped that we could somehow salvage Valentine’s Day with a nice meal.
I finished tidying up the kitchen and set the table with candles. Claire’s bag was on stool in the hallway with a bottle-neck poking out. I grabbed the wine, but as I pulled it out, I knocked her bag over, spilling its contents onto the floor. I knelt down and put each item back - the usual stuff - her phone, a bit of make-up and her keys.
Inspecting her keys, I recognised the shape. I pulled out my own from my pocket to compare the two, and lo and behold, it was a match. My soul left my body as I registered the truth.
I opened up her phone - she was logged into my facebook account. I felt faint. Scrolling through her texts, I saw a full exchange between her and Emma from months ago. She’d told Emma that she saw me out for dinner with another girl and that she saw us kiss. The whole notion that I had cheated didn’t just come from nowhere - it was planted in her head from an old friend bittered by jealousy.
The bagfull of lies left me one final clue to nail the coffin shut. I pulled out her lipstick and added an exclamation point to the word that was scrawled across the wall. Realising it was the same colour, I dropped it to the ground, covering my mouth to stop me from screaming.
Emma had been innocent all along. This whole thing was orchestrated by Claire and I’d danced for her like a puppet on a string. My heart was shattered into pieces. It was Valentine’s Day - and I was alone - broken, betrayed and cheated.