I’m used to the love of my life liking other girls. It’s happened time and time again, with him. He meets new girls often, and he falls for them faster and harder than he could ever fall for me. I watch the way he acts, and I’ve seen the story enough times to be able to pick up the signs. He’ll smile more at home, he’ll want to go and see her, he’ll ask to bring his ‘friend’ over for dinner, that sort of thing. I let it happen, no matter how much I hate it. The way they giggle and laugh with one another over plates of food I have cooked, shutting me out of every conversation through whispers and written notes. They’re always worlds away from me, these new girls. Little and pretty and skinny and cute, with gorgeous long hair and smooth skin, so far from my own wrinkled face, short coarse hair and large lumpy body.
He always wanted to sleep with me, regardless of his little flings.
We still had regular sex, usually at least 3 times a week. He never stopped wanting my touch, my kisses. He regularly did not get erect while we have sex, which most people probably find weird, but I didn’t mind. Pleasure is how we show our love to each other, how I knew that no matter what, our love for one another will always be the strongest.
He wasn’t my first love, as much as I deeply wished he was. There was a man before him, John. He ran away before me and my new love ever met; I’m honestly surprised we did meet as I was well into my forties when John left me. I suppose I loved John, but no where near as much as the overwhelming, all consuming, total, complete and utter love that I still feel now, even with everything that’s going on. I feel as if on the day that I met him, I fell into this warm darkness of love, and I’ve been there for every single second of the 9 years I’ve known him.
You’re probably wondering what the hell this is about. Why are you reading a description of how in love I am? Well, to put it bluntly, that’s how it was. It all went to shit.
It started when John came back. He turned up on my doorstep, one random Sunday afternoon. I almost fainted when I saw him.
“John! What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, almost unable to believe my eyes. A sad smile spread across his face.
“I’m home, Dorian.”
What was he thinking? This wasn’t his home, not anymore. It hadn’t been for years. It was my home, my haven, a special place for just me and my love to hide away from the unforgiving outside world. I suddenly felt very defensive over my old, small brick house, and wedged myself in the doorway to stop him peering in.
“What are you talking about?” I asked him.
“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry. I should never have left you, not in your state.” He looked me up and down before continuing, wrinkling his nose slightly. “God, you were worse than I thought. I shouldn’t have left you so vulnerable. I’m sorry, Dorian.”
How dare he? My state? How could he be so rude? I felt like punching him. He had no right to come waltzing back into my life after all these years, and then treat me like I’m deranged.
“I’m fine, John.” I said defensively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He looked at me remorsefully. “Right. Well” He cleared his throat. “Can I come in?”
No. No. No. The thought of John pushing through my special space made me feel sick. There was no way I was going to let him in.
But suddenly, I felt a hand slip into mine.
“Who’s this?” John asked.
I sighed. “Just come in, John. I’ll explain.”
I lead him to the kitchen. His eyes swivelled around in what seemed to be horror. I hadn’t gotten round to cleaning in a while, and there seemed to be quite a lot of filth piling up, now that I actually looked. Perhaps it smelt a little, as John seemed to wince slightly upon entry. I shoved the dirty plates and cutlery on the table out of the way, and made room for the three of us. We sat and talked for hours.
By the end of it, the boys had decided they wanted to talk to one another without me there. I was angry with John for putting that idea in his head, but I tried to keep my cool. John wanted to take him to a restaurant. I said no, but he was so insistent. We argued. In the end I lost it.
“No, John! You’re not taking him! You’re not taking him anywhere. He’s mine, and he will stay here with me!” I choked through sobs. They didn’t seem to care about how I felt. They left me alone in that house anyway. It didn’t feel like a home anymore, when he left. It felt like an empty shell of what it was just a few hours ago.
That’s how we got to where I am now. I’m hiding in the gap in the roof in my love’s room. Only I don’t think he’s my love any more.
He’s sent them. They’ve sent them. They’re coming to take me away. They’re banging at the door, and I can hear loud wailing sirens. I’m cowering in the hole. They’re coming to take me and there’s nothing I can do about it. He betrayed me, my love betrayed me. God, what am I talking about? I bet it was John who did it. He would never betray me, not without being manipulated. I don’t blame him, I never will. The banging is getting louder. I need him to know I still love him with all my heart, I need him to know that I know it wasn’t him. Scrambling in my pocket, I find a scrap of paper and a needle. It’ll have to do. Pricking my arm and dipping the needle in the red pool that forms, I manage to get down a brief message.
‘I’ll love you forever, my beautiful son. Mummy’s love with always be the strongest.’
I drop it & let it flutter down onto his little blue bed, before putting my hands over my ears and waiting for the end to come and get me.