Unbecoming

They say love makes you crazy. I can believe that. The thought of losing myself terrified me. It had happened once before, in my twenties and put me off getting involved with anyone again. Then my thirties hit and before I knew it, I had sleepwalked into hell.

That was why I had never been expecting us to reconcile after I had finally successfully severed those ties. He had been typically difficult but after seven years together, I could not imagine a life without him, I suppose. It had begun gradually at first, with text messages, emails, and late-night video calls until we grew close again. I never asked what he had done in his absence, only checking there had been no one else. He told me that he had spent the time alone, working on himself, recovering from the loss of our relationship.

“What is it that you need?” I said to Khalid on the telephone, trying to suppress the urge to wring his neck. He paused for a moment, then said “I need air, I need water, I need food, I don’t need anything else, least of all you.” I rolled my eyes and knew in that moment it was going to be one of those days for us. Was he worth it, really? I snapped back “whatever” and put the phone down.

It was just after midnight when my phone rang with a video call. It was him. I answered and there he was, standing in pitch blackness in his garden, holding his phone up to his face. Every now and then I saw a glowing nose as he took a drag on his cigarette, and little else.

“I thought you didn’t need me” I said sulkily to the nose floating in the darkness, determined not to react. To which the nose replied defiantly “I don’t need to see you, I want to see you”.

I could smell coffee. Coffee and cigarettes. He was standing by the window, smoking, completely naked. I stood there for a moment, taking in the tattoo snaking around his upper thigh and realised I had never once asked him about them. I left him to it and poured myself a cup of coffee. I walked to the kitchen table and sat down, leafing through a magazine. He turned briefly to face me, smiling in that self-conscious way of his, before focusing on the world outside my window again. Little boy lost idly examining the cobwebs trapped in my window frame, while discarding his lit cigarette with a flourish, expressing mock concern he may have hit an unsuspecting passer by below.

As he walked towards me, lazily running his fingers through his hair, it was easy to forget that he was wearing a mask, keeping secrets from me. I had found out he had fathered a child with a secret ex-girlfriend while we were apart and not told me about it. It was clear he had no conscience, no guilt, and was going to continue seeing us both. I smiled at him as he leaned in to kiss me, chattering away goofily about something innocuous someone had said to him at work the day before. We were together again, making a fresh start. Or so he thought.

I trailed my hand along the sand, as the damp grains stuck to my fingers like glue. The tide was coming in now, I could feel the waves lapping against my toes. It was time to leave. Time to go home. Wherever home was. I laid down on the sand, flat on my back, fully clothed and stared up at the sky. I could feel the sun warming my cheeks, but it would be gone soon. Just like me. I can feel the dampness of wet sand through my clothes and smell the sea air. This may be my only opportunity to come here for a while. It was time to let go of the past and move forward.

I had done something that people will judge me for in order to free myself from pain but it was about survival. It was him or me and I had chosen me. I had erased all evidence of my existence online, moved home, and he had always been too arrogant and self-involved to get to know my friends and my family. When he got the scheduled text telling him I was dead, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. In death, I finally felt the freedom I had relinquished to be with him and it was liberating.

Equality is not a given. It should be taken.