“What are you doing here?” I snap icily overlooking the copious amount of sunflowers everywhere. I am broken and angry and he is not going to control this conversation. Act, Don’t React, Tarah, I whisper internally.
“I live here.” he responds looking at me with trepidation. I know this angle. He’s playing easily on my heart strings. He’s a salesman after all. He knows the powers of negotiation, when to concede, when give so that you can get. All I had wanted was for us to be ‘official’ - to start an actual life, free from hiding and our history. He’s playing the part, playing his card so that I will break. I’m not going to break this time.
“No, you don’t fucking live here. This is my apartment. My name is on the lease. I pay the bills. You live in the building next door.” I think of the empty apartment he was renting as a 'stage' in case 'people' came to visit. I am posed, calm, looking at him with laser sharp eyes. What I want to do is run into his lap sobbing in gratuity that he is back but I won’t. I can’t. He needs to know he’s gone too far this time. He needs to understand my hurt. “Is that language really necessary Tarah? And yes, I do live here. Would you like me to give you money for rent to make it official?” I want to stab him. “No, I don’t need your FUCKING money. I want my key back.” “No.” He responds, completely disregarding my request.
“Where have you been?” He asks. “Home.” I respond throwing my bag down and walking past him. He looks relieved, as if for a minute he questioned me leaving him for someone else. “It’s not your home, Tarah. You don’t live there. This is your home. You live here – with me.” “This is a holding pattern, this is no fucking home.” I snap back. “Did you sleep with her?” I ask facing away from him. He doesn’t respond. I can hear him breathing. He shifts. He doesn’t like this. He wants to pretend nothing happened. He wants to get what he wants and make the rest disappear. My anger is rising. My stomach twisted and distorted at the thought of him with someone else. He is mine and I am his. I don’t give a shit about legal documents. He is my universe and we are connected through energy and time and there is nothing else for me.
“Did…you…sleep…with…her…” I say again with a fiery heightened voice. Act, Don’t React. “What does it matter? I love you. I’m here now. It’s the past, we don’t need to talk about it.” I bend down and remove the wooden flip flop from my foot. I walk coolly towards him and in one swift flick of my arm; bash him across his temple with it. So much for not being reactionary. Note to self to not mention this to John on our call tomorrow.
I’m shocked by what I’ve done but I don’t show it. I’ve lost all control over my emotions. I’m frozen. Waiting. He doesn’t move. He sits keeping a steady eye on me. Did he just like that? Punishment? The dramatics. I can see him thinking. He’s plotting his next words. What will he say next? I’m half a second away from completely breaking down and he knows this. He’s seen this before. “Leave. Please just leave.” My voice cracks. “I can’t do this anymore. This is killing me. This isn’t love. This is so fucked up. I can’t pretend this is ok. You either love me or you don’t. You either want this or you don’t. You’re either sure or you aren’t. But you can’t keep walking out on me expecting me to welcome you with open arms when you decide yet again that it’s me that you really want because maybe, just maybe I won’t be here anymore. This is my life. This is not a game. Just leave. Stay gone. I’m used to it now. Go back to the big white house and live your life.” Tears are streaming down my face and I don’t mean any words that I am saying but I’m resigned to not live my life like this anymore. I’m terrified that he will leave but I don’t have the energy for trying. I’m already so broken that what difference would it make any way? “Just leave.”
He stands up, moving slowly towards me. “I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere. I tried to go back. I thought it was the right thing to do. To try. You were everywhere. All I saw was you. I missed you terribly. I missed my best friend. I promise, I’m not going anywhere. I love you. Come here.” He motions holding out his arms. I shake my head no. “T. C’mon. We can fight all night if you want but I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry. You know you love me so let’s just stop this.” I shake my head no. Tears still streaming down my face.
My head hurts. So many emotions. So many thoughts. Will it always be this way? Will he always leave me? Will I always spiral so out of control? Will he always come back? It's been over a year of this why aren’t I enough? How can he love me and hurt me so much. How can I just always be here waiting? Everything aches. I feel unsteady. The one thing I need is him and the worst thing for me is him. Standing in front of the person I love, his arms extended I feel wretchedly alone.
I can’t speak. There are no words. I have no defense against him. No arguments. No sales pitch. I turn and walk away. He stands still. Waiting. Observing. I walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I don’t recognize anything about myself anymore. All I see are sunken, lost eyes peering back at me. My clavicle protrudes from my sundress. I am so weak.
I turn on the shower. I have nowhere else to go but here. To hide under water. Water. My safety. My church. I am not sure if I’m even breathing anymore. I’m sobbing so uncontrollably but so stifled that I might vomit. I want someone to come take care of me. Make all of this go away. I want him to make it all go away. I want to run away. I want to crawl inside of him. Broken. Broken. Broken. And before I know it he’s standing behind me in the shower yet again. Watching, observing. “T.” he whispers and he wraps his arms around me. “I love you. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I won’t ever leave you again.” Yes you will floods every part of me and I collapse onto him.
And then we do all that we know how to do to get ourselves back to each other. Communicate without words.
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