I am in a better place now. I have learned sign language- I can communicate quite well. And fortunately I couldn’t be fired from my job for losing my hearing – thank god for accommodations. Now I can tell my story, as a warning. If even one person can learn from it, learn to spot the signs and walk away before they are hurt, then it’s worth it.
I can’t listen to music anymore. So in that sense, Claude won.
I miss listening to music so much. I’m trying not to let myself be consumed with hatred for him for what he did to my hearing but it’s hard. I could only work out to my favourite songs, so now it’s really hard to remain motivated to exercise now. I try watching my favourite shows, but it’s not the same as racing on the elliptical to the beats of Nicki Minaj, the growls of James Hetfield, the howls of Greta Van Fleet or the wails of Kate Bush. Yes, I have, well, had quite an eclectic taste in music, but Claude automatically hated any song I liked.
Claude was so sophisticated. He only listened to classical music, and he despised pop. He said he didn’t, he was just trying to make me understand how classical music works, so we could share our love of music. I still don’t get why it was such a big deal for him. I didn’t want him to listen to Plain Jane! But I wasn’t going to act ashamed of loving it either.
The closest I got to classical music was “Rock me Amadeus” by Falco. God how I love that song- perfect workout song. Now I just watch the music video. It’s pretty awesome. The scene with the bikers bringing their metal studded arms up to the camera. I just can’t get enough of it. I play the song in my head, I know it by heart.
Even though Falco raps with a pretty strong German accent, Claude still hated it. The song, the music video - all of it.
Claude tried to make me love Mozart and Beethoven they way he loves them. “Lia, can’t you get it- just listen to this-“ and he would play some incredibly boring stretch of music with no words that made my eyes glaze over.
“Why do you care?” I’d reply. “This is why the good lord invented headphones!” I’d laugh.
Now I remember how Claude wouldn’t laugh back with me. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t remember him laughing.
“Music without words is like books without dialogue, or photos without people in them!” I’d tell him, borrowing from Alice in Wonderland. I am not completely uncultured after all. For some reason, that seemed to drive him insane.
“Lia- you can’t tell me with a straight face you prefer that fat freak Axl Rose to what I am playing for you! Wasn’t he a violent pedophile anyway? All these stars you worship so much- they’re all violent freaks!”
I tried to make him understand- “It’s the music Claude- I don’t care about them as people! I’m not going to date Axl Rose for gods’ sake!”
“How very Death of the Author of you!” he’d respond lightly. “So you wouldn’t date Axl Rose if you could?” He stared at me with his pale eyes, and I think it was then I realised something might be wrong, but everything else was so great, and Claude was so educated and smart- such fun to be with, and so gentle and careful. He was so unlike my other boyfriends, he knew stuff, he wanted to do things with me, he’d plan stuff without me asking to, he was just fun.
“What is Death of the Author anyway?” I asked, curious enough to ignore the childish jab about Gun N Roses. “And besides- everyone listens to that music- classic rock- you know- on the radio- we just grew up with it everywhere- you did too!”
He shook his head and started explaining Death of the Author. I have to say, it’s a pretty neat concept.
I think it was shortly after that- I kept having to ask people to repeat themselves. At work, in the store. I remember staring at my boss, both of us becoming more and more frustrated as it became evident I couldn’t understand the stream of gibberish flowing from her mouth. “What?” “Excuse me?” I was always cocking my head sideways, “Can you please repeat that? I didn’t catch it”
And the itching. The itching deep inside my brain. I scratched the side of my scalp in my sleep so much blood flowed. I woke up to bloody pillow.
Claude was so loving and supportive. “Babe- it’s probably just a mosquito bite. You’re fine. Please stop. And maybe you shouldn’t listen to your music so loud!”
He was so sweet.
Everything happened over the course of months, but now it feels like seconds. I didn’t understand. I just know, it was getting harder and harder to understand what people were saying. I started at their lips desperately, I felt I was going mad.
“Maybe it’s just wax build up sweetheart” said Claude. He bought me a ear wax removal kit from the pharmacy, read the instructions and carefully helped me follow them step my step. Some fragments of gunk washed out of my ear. Claude hugged me. “You’re going to be all better now! We should celebrate- where do you want to go out?”
See- that’s what I meant. So generous, so spontaneous. And he was so close to me, I could hear him quite well.
It was that night. That part I remember quite well. After our dinner date. I could barely hear the waiter, and Claude ended up ordering for me “I know what my sweetie likes!” I felt grateful and relieved- I knew then something was wrong with my hearing, but Claude would be at my side and support me through whatever it was. He told me so himself.
That evening, the itching was worse than ever. I shook my head from side to side, trying to break free of it. But eventually I fell asleep, an uneasy sleep full of dreams of green worms burying inside my brain.
A skinny shining green worm was slithering towards my ear, and began sliding into my brain. I felt its cool moistness around my ear and neck. My eyes were wide open, and I was lying on my side. The worm breathed heavily, and even though it was skinny, it weighed heaviy on my neck and round my exposed ear.
I jerked out of the nightmare. Claude was bent over me, his hand gently pressing on my ear.
I screamed, sat up and grabbed his wrist. A dropper full of liquid fell from his hand, loudly on the bedroom floor.
We stared at each other in the dim night light.
Thankfully all the working out had left me quite stronger than him. He tried to twist away but I gripped on tightly. Then I picked up the dropper.
“Lia- no- I’m just trying to help you- your hearing- “
I shoved him away from me, quite hard, and holding on to the dropper I ran.
I ran out, only pausing to grab my jacket and phone.
Later it was confirmed the dropper was full of poison he had manufactured himself, and he had been slowly poisoning my ears over the months.
I will never get my hearing back.