Getting over Joe

I started sleeping with Peter again not long after I had thrown Joe out of my flat. He is helping me getting over the heartache Joe caused when we were together.

I lost many of my friends when I took up with Joe. He said they were a "waste of space" and gradually they drifted away. He particularly hated Peter and told me to dump him - so I did.

I first met Joe in a small gallery just off the high street. A few of my seascape watercolours had been selected for an exhibition of young local artists. I had spent all my savings on a trendy new jumpsuit, which I wore with some killer heels in the vain hope that it might boost my confidence if I had to deal with any potential buyers.

But I was no good at walking in the heels. I lost my balance, narrowly avoiding spilling my drink over one of my own paintings. Joe stepped in to catch me before any damage was done “What a pity” he laughed. “I think a splash of colour from your red wine would be an improvement”

I was mortified. “And what makes you the expert?” I said indignantly “Are you an art critic or something?” He admitted he wasn’t and said he was an artist himself but hadn’t submitted anything for this particular exhibition because it didn’t suit his experimental and avant-garde style. I was drawn to his eloquence and passion when he talked about his own work.

I was keen to know what he thought was wrong with my painting. “It lacks colour and imagination” he said, "It’s just a bit – safe!”

“But it will probably sell” he conceded. “People who don’t know much about art like seascapes. Specially if all they want is an original that will look good on their wall.”

As he walked with me around the gallery he seemed only too happy to give all the other exhibits the benefits of his scathing critique. He was devastatingly handsome, with designer stubble and jet-black wavy hair that was only partially tamed by the “man bun” he had it tied in.

His deep violet blue eyes seemed to drink me in. I had never met anyone quite like him. I thought him creative, dark … dangerous. I had tickets for a film with rave reviews that was showing at the art-house cinema where I worked, and before I could stop myself I asked if he wanted to come with me. I was keen to know what he thought of it.

Within a couple of weeks we were an item and he moved into my small basement flat. I had fallen hopelessly and blindly in love with him. He didn’t have a job but the small wages I earned and the occasional sale of one of my paintings was just enough to pay the rent and cover the bills of until Joe’s talent was “discovered”.

We were lost in our own little world.

But, as the passion began to play itself out, I found myself questioning when I might see some of his output. A few blank canvases dotted around the flat were the only hint he was an artist. He could rarely be motivated to get out of bed before midday. When I asked him about it, he just got angry and said he was going through a creative block. I was so besotted, I believed him.

I finally saw the light a few weeks ago. I had come home early from work and found him in bed with some girl he had picked up from the pub that lunchtime. He said it was just “moment of weakness”. But I knew deep in my heart that it wasn’t the first time he had other girls in the flat when I was in work.

I had caught him in the act and it was the last straw for me. In a tearing rage I picked up his clothes from the floor and threw them and his blank canvases out into the street. Then I kicked him out.

And I'm determined not to weaken and take him back. I’m tired of making excuses for him and I’m ready to move on.

It was when I was gathering the rest of Joe’s things to throw out, that I found Peter. He was a little dusty and dishevelled from the back of the wardrobe where I had hastily dumped him. But he was still the fluffy toy rabbit I’ve had since I was little.

I now go to sleep each night cuddling him, safe in the knowledge that I’ve had a lucky escape.

(ends)