I was crying in the dark, taking care that my crying doesn’t turn into sobs, taking care that he doesn’t hear me, taking care that I at least appear strong on the surface.
Let’s just say that I failed miserably.
I was thinking about all the times that he manipulated me, like the other day when he threatened to leave with her, when he told me that he wouldn’t love me anymore if I told them, when he tied me to that chair, when two days later I was stupid enough to tell him that I still loved him.
I lay there without a sound, thinking to myself, rivers of tears flowing uncontrollably down my cheeks.
I turned over.
My hot tears had already cooled on my pillow, the result being that I was basically laying in a cold swamp of damp feathers and cloth. I know I had basically ruined my pillow, so I commanded myself to quit crying, but it just wouldn’t happen. It’s like the tears were alive with a mind of their own.
I wanted to go to the bathroom. His arm was around me, so I knew I’d risk waking him up, but at that moment, I simply didn’t have any shits to give anymore.
So I gently got his arm off of me, got up, and looked back. Okay. Still clear: he still seemed sound asleep. I tried to walk to the bathroom, and nearly tripped in the darkness.
I sat on the toilet lid for a while, trying to calm myself down (to limited success).
Then I took an aspirin and went back to bed, this time without tears but with a bad case of hiccups.
I tried to think my life through: how in the actual fuck did I get involved in such a screwed-up, toxic relationship. And the answer…
I have no fucking clue whatsoever.
Maybe it’s just one of those relationships where we have this twisted love of each other.
It’s where I love him to death but there’s still a deep, wide gap between us, a dark abyss of unknowns to wade through before we actually get to know each other.
And both of us are too afraid to start, to break the silence.
Maybe it’s ‘cuz we both want to love, to be loved, to have the feeling that someone will actually give a shit if we died tomorrow.
And ‘cuz both of us know that our real personalities aren’t all that lovable.
Or that we just love this aura of mystery, of not knowing each other too well, of…
My alarm went off.
I was laying on the bed in a confused mess when he came into the room. I asked him the time.
He said, “Honey, it’s 2 in the afternoon.”
I relaxed. I could finally see why the night seemed so long.
Two minutes later, I was brushing my teeth, the familiar feeling of his hand in my hair. My reason told me to shrug off that arm, get away from him as fast as possible, but I somehow simply couldn’t do any more than just theorize about leaving him.
Half an hour later, we were making love again.