Ten years ago:
The front door shuts and she’s gone. The gentle ka-click firmly concludes three years of our lives.
Also, I am going to lose my job.
There’s a third, of course. My father has been diagnosed with a chronic illness that will not end well.
Her leaving, the most recent of this week’s disasters, came as a surprise because I am young and retarded. Didn’t see her drifting towards more accomplished cock. And there she goes. Will never suck on those massive tits again. Never smell her neck that makes me swoon like it’s doused in opium. Never wake beside her warm pajamas or see her sleeping face innocent of its daytime worry and affectation.
I’d come home and she was sitting on the sofa, waiting for me. I’d pumped up the bike tires first, before I went in. Had no idea the end of my life was waiting for me.
She’d started crying and then I did, too. She was scared. And excited. It didn’t take long. About as long as it takes to get hit in the guts by a freight train. She said without being asked, there’s no one else. In this way she told me that there is.
I asked her, did you ever love me? She said she did. But not any more.
Click. She’s gone. She will stay with friends who will make her feel better about leaving me. I will see her once more, briefly. I will message her a year later. And that is all.
But now I am alone in the house where we’d lived together until a moment ago. Vast and silent. Her things are everywhere. Clothes, toiletries, her diary which I dare not read in case I discover something true.
I don’t remember the next hours. Perhaps I sat in the same spot. Perhaps motionless. It is a blank place in my mind that does not need recovery. Let’s leave it there, buried deep underground. May I die without ever recalling those obscured moments of my life.
Finally I remember walking around the house. Wailing. Jesus, no wonder she left me. I realize that I am freezing to death and have not eaten. Somehow I make hot chocolate, drink half of it. Some strength and dignity are restored.
I call an old friend. We watch South Park. He is a night owl and I sleep before he does. I wake in the dark and think, was it a dream? Just a dream? And like a plummeting roller coaster I remember: no, she’s gone.
Further reading: Abnormal Life
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