Sex, periods and poop; three things that somehow make their way in the conversation over our Bloomin Onion and Sangrias. I’m not likely to see the people sitting around me when I divulge this information to her, so why should I worry about the stomachs and opinions of everyone else? Until the day I worried about what everyone else thought.
“He’s married,” I said in a hushed tone. A group of older women just one table over, I was ashamed about this ‘condition’ of my current relationship and how the rest of the world would see me.
“Does his wife know?”
“No!” I said glancing over at the table next to us, praying no one had heard me.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know, I think…” I gasped “I love him.” Those words right there, those are the words that haunted me. Those are the words that left me in a shambles. What was love anyway? I mean you hear about opposites attracting and age doesn’t mean a thing, but seriously what about obligations?
“Well, he has to make up his mind.” Like this was a game of cat and mouse, I knew in my mind she was wrong, but in my heart, well that’s a different story.
“How do I convince him?”
“He’s not a toy!” She said with a sip of her drink and a laugh. He’s not a toy? But I’m the one who’s confused, who’s worried, scared, and obviously vastly an idiot. Every time I was with him it was oh not now, I’m not ready for this, she can’t find out, and the most painful statement to this day “wifey”. Wifey, out of all the damn things a man could say to hurt me in that moment, he used that word.
He’s not a toy, then what the heck was I? My emotions were on a string and he was the one swatting at them. How could someone play with my emotions, how could this be my fault? I would be the one called the “home wrecker” but I’m not the one who’s breaking the trust and marriage vows, he is. I needed control, a way of either grabbing him for good or the courage to let him go because this cat and mouse game was getting old. I had needs and wants, I had feelings too. In the fiery death of the relationship came out a woman who was bound by the unknown, insecure by the connotations of society and a man who got his cake and ate it too. It doesn’t seem fair, he got everything and all I got was an invisible red letter A tattooed on my heart. The bitterness I felt towards the world still holds true now. The slightest jabs, how it’s the other woman’s fault, not the mans for ruining the marriage is like a form of road rash that burns every second of the day. The game was over, the heartache dissipated but yet here I am, emotions wound into a tight ball waiting for someone to find the end of that same string he played with to unwind me.
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