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"You Are Mine," He Said, "Mine and Only Mine!"

Excerpts from The Love We Had, a Novel

By Øivind H. SolheimPublished 2 years ago 3 min read
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"You Are Mine," He Said, "Mine and Only Mine!"
Photo by Mahdi Bafande on Unsplash

"Where Have You Been?"

When I came back it was night. The house lay there silent and I went in as quietly as I could. I climbed the stairs and put myself to bed in the other bedroom.

The next day I was exhausted and barely got up from bed. When I got down to the kitchen he sat there. There was complete silence in the house. He just sat there and watched. The face expressionless. He looked at me and asked:

"Where have you been?"

He looked at me, and I couldn't meet his gaze. He repeated the question.

"Where have you been?"

I sat with the phone in my hand. He looked at it and said:

"You have to look more closely at it, it probably says something about it, I think - wherever you have been. Whatever you have done."

I said nothing. I could sense the resentment in his voice. The weak quiver when he is angry. Angry and scared.

I said his name, took a step forward, but then I stopped. There was a resistance, there was no point in it.

He sat silently with the newspaper on the table in front of him. Seemed quite calm, almost a little apathetic. I waited, thinking we had to get through this now. We just had to.

"There's coffee on the pitcher."

I almost laughed when he talked. The words came so naturally, so completely by themselves. As if this was a perfectly ordinary day at the kitchen.

"Yes. Thanks! Thank you!"

I put forth words, went to the bench, took the cup out of the cupboard, took the jug, sat down at the table.

---

"Listen", I say, "can we talk?"

"What is it?" he asks.

"I think we need to talk."

"Talk? About what then?"

He looks at me silently. I bow my head, unable to look at him.

"About us, you and me", I say.

"Why is that? Is there something wrong?"

"What do you think, then?"

"Oh, how can I know that? It was you who started talking about it."

"I do not think we get along well here in this house."

"Oh! Well, I see! So, what is it then? What have I done wrong now?"

I can barely mumble a few words, but I immediately regret it. It sounds just completely banal, so stupid.

I have long felt that he and I live together under the same roof, and that we totally lack the ability to listen to each other. I have felt that I live in an exile. I am in a way expelled from my own life. And I feel I have to do something about it. This does not work anymore. I have to deal with it. I have to get out. There is no way, no other way than the way out.

To be on the inside may be to be allowed to love, love him and love the kids, and to feel love. To be on the inside must be knowing that I belong together with him in the family, and to know that he and the others care and need me.

To be on the inside or on the outside can sometimes be a choice that I myself cannot make.

---

I reach out under the covers.

I search blindly, want him nearby.

He turns around, silently in the dark, lie down further afield from me.

I lie frozen under the covers. I long for the heat from the other.

He's miles remote.

It is not easy to live up to what one thinks one should do. I'm trying. I try to reach out, try to show him that I'm interested, that I want to talk to him, that I want to be with him. But he does not care. He rejects me.

I forget quickly, but then I remember again. I long so much for the warmth from him that I had earlier. My body screams to be there, close to him. I miss him so much. But now he's miles away from me.

personality disorder
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About the Creator

Øivind H. Solheim

Novel author, lifelong learner and nature photographer: Poetry, short stories, personal essays, articles and stories on nature, hiking, physical and mental health, living in relationships, love, and future. “Make Your Dream Be Your Future​”

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