I’d been drinking wine all afternoon, along with a few margaritas because it just seemed right.
‘Do you want to go hear the jazz downtown tonight?’ he asked.
A bit uncertainly, since I don’t hold my liquor as well as he, I said yes.
We got dressed and I complained about the shoes. A pair of black heels owned by his ex-wife. They didn’t fit too well but I’d no other shoes with me. Being already half bagged I bitched with each step though. I know now that it certainly pissed him off.
His ex was a beautiful woman who is exceptionally talented as well. He isn’t truly over their tumultuous three years together but he no longer loves her.
I’m a jealous woman who is not beautiful and only vaguely talented .
I cannot excise that green part of my heart, so when angered will throw out stupid shit like “You still love her. That’s the problem!”
Except it’s not the problem. The problem is my own insecurity and fear of being abandoned.
He misses her but he no longer loves her.
I cannot ever find the right words or at the very least keep my fucking mouth shut.
So we listen to a decent band and have a few more drinks, then take a cab back to his house.
Alan listens to his phone messages and I black out. Not black-out in a good way, which is to say pass out. I apparently did a full-fledged Jekyll and Hyde spectacular.
I’ve no idea what precipitated my ranting.
I came to with Alan glaring at me
“I’m through Chris. I’m done. I will never go through this kind of thing again!”
He frightened me. I was so scared. Scared of his wrath, scared of what the hell I had said because I did not remember. Not a goddamned word.
Instead of going to bed and dealing with my behavior in the morning I took off like a small child. Angry, full of self-righteousness, and stupidly doing so without telling Alan.
After arriving at my house the entire situation crashed into me.
What in the name of god had I wrought? How could I have done something like this?
I called three times and he would not answer the phone.
When we met there was an attraction intellectual, physical, and emotional. It is intense and our involvement over the last nine months has been one of passion, laughter, understanding and misunderstandings.
When he drinks he can become either affectionate or demeaning. I never know but always hope for the affection.
He has told me before
“I do not love you.”
“I do not care about you.”
“I am not your boyfriend.”
“I am looking for a Barbie.”
I have also heard him whisper
“I love you” and tell me that my art is fine and that things will be alright.
He keeps his distance.
Not wanting to be hurt but not wanting to live.
I understand some of it.
My life has been uncertain and stressful the last six months and my last long term relationship was with a crazy man.
My ex husband.
He did not drink. He was simply cruel and vicious.
Repeating that cycle is not something a sane person wishes to repeat.
Neither Alan nor I ever claimed to be sane.
I just wish that I was not such a fucking stupid cunt sometimes and could have some measure of decorum.
Maybe it’s not in me.
~a story by miss r