Fragile

My first reaction was to scream, throw myself to the ground and beg. But not anymore. It’s time to pick up and dust off and get on with it.

Get on with what? What is there to win?

Or do I continue this route and lose? And what do I lose?

I don’t know. So confused! So twisted around by events that I had no control over.

So distorted from the me I thought I was to the me I am now.

The me that would do anything to have him ring the bell. To see him walk in the door. To hear his ‘hello.’

To see him sitting in his favorite chair, by the fire, laptop cradled on his knees.

Yes, I would even kill for him.

Which early on I did.

Killed a man so he wouldn’t die. So he could live another day. With me.

Even that first day, I knew. Knew beyond the words I would one day say, the three words that would let him know that I cared. I loved.

But I let him go. Let him go out of sheer anger and the frustration of his constant lies.

And so I walk the streets in the darkness, with the rain sliding down my collar, fists bunched into my jacket pockets, hunting for a reason.

A reason to continue my life. To find someone--no, that’s done. There will be only one, and that’s him.

No more someones in my life.

I pass the place. The place where we lived for those wonderful, frustrating,

It is inevitable. I have no choice. I cannot go on alone. Not true.

I cannot go on without him. Without his snide remarks, his careless attitude towards life, his brilliant genius, his-- his everything.

I must do something to change, to make it happen. But what?

Okay, let’s see.

He said I was too sensitive. I reacted too strongly to his silly utterances.

But, to me, they were downright degrading. Calling me stupid just because I didn’t figure out things as fast as he did. Didn’t see the ‘obvious’ as he did.

When I brought it to his attention, he announced that I was and then qualified it with, “well, not really.”

What was I supposed to think?

His brain molecules worked so much faster than anyone, actually.

He even mocked the way I dressed. Too understated. Trying too hard to blend in. To disappear into the crowd.

But I’m comfortable, and that’s my first line of defense.

I’m diverting.

Need to figure out how to best win him back. Dinner out? Nah! Too ordinary. A walk in the park. Nah! He doesn’t walk. He sprints.

Could it be that the simplest way is to invite him for tea?

See if he’ll even discuss our problems?

Because no matter what, I’ll take him as he is. I have to. I can’t live life without him.

And, if I look at it sensibly, he never has really done anything wrong. It’s only his damnable way of appearing so callous, so indifferent. So unemotional.

But is he really? After all, he is warm and even cuddly with one person. His aunt.

And there are times when I see him sneaking glances at me as if to ask how I am doing. Oh, he’ll never be outright about it, but he does show--yes, if I admit it--he does show some sort of warmth toward me.

I do recall the time I came home so distraught over one of my clients, and he spent the evening catering to me. Much to my surprise, he produced a ham sandwich and tea without my having to prod and push him.

And when I sprained my ankle, he carried me up the stairs, set me on the sofa, and for the next few days never left me alone.

So, what is my beef with him? Why did I throw such a tantrum that morning? Just because he did his usual? He took off that evening and didn’t return until late afternoon, giving me no explanation of where he was?

Why was it this once that set me off? That had me packing a bag and leaving.

Frightened for him? For the dangerous life, he leads? But I, since that first interview, knew that I had that same inclination.

So what drew me to--oh hell--I want him back.

I shoot him a text message that reads, ‘I’d like to come home.’

Immediately he responds, ‘come home.’