Death of a relationship

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Death of a relationship

The minute he opened his eyes, he felt it. 

There was something in the air. Something. He could not define it. That something hung heavy over the room...like one of those mosquito nets of the days of yore...impenetrable green nylon which kept out not only mosquitoes, but air as well. Sitting up, he noticed she was not in the room and immediately the blood rushed to his head.

Where was she? She must be on the phone. She must be talking to HIM. He knew it. He knew she was unfaithful. It ran in her blood, it did. She had done everything for HIM without the slightest hesitation. 

DAMN her! Why didn’t she love him? WHY had all that love gone to HIM? He loved her didn’t he? Didn’t he bring her flowers every day - press her feet when she was tired? Didn’t he insist that she was the most beautiful woman in the world? What did HE have that he didn’t? 

THAT’S IT!! She was going to pay. He would leave her, he would make her realise what she had lost. True love had come her way and had she given it any heed? No, she had crushed it under her feet and kicked it away. She would pay. 

He looked up at the sound of footsteps. Yeah there she was, that lying cheating woman!

And sure enough she had her cell phone in her hand. He had been right...she HAD been talking to HIM. 

The room filled with uneasy sibilance as the snake of jealousy- coiled tightly around his neck- reared its head; fixing her with its menacing yellow stare.

She looked at him. On the one hand, her gentle self felt quite sad. She knew that the man in front of her thought he really loved her, and for some time she had tried to believe it. It is always disheartening when harsh reality comes to light, breaking through the silver lined clouds of projected happiness.

She wanted to tell him it was all ok, all good. Some day he would grow up and realise love was not about buying flowers...it was about knowing which flowers to buy. He had never, in a million years, listened when she told him how she hated roses. She wanted to tell him she understood his insecurity, and that that too will pass...with time and age. She understood that the trembling man in front of her felt he knew everything that is to know about life and love. The realisation that he was not even close must have been shattering.

On the other hand, her other identity fumed with rage and the amber eyes of this Amazonian warrior self, flashed with months of pent up anger and resentment. How dare he presume he had control of her life? How dare he presume she was wrong and needed to be righted? She would destroy him. His heart would never recover from the blows she would deal him. She would not listen to reason.

He surveyed her face...turned away from him...and he made the mistake of asking who she had been talking to. When she didn’t answer he jumped to his own conclusions and started ranting.

The man wanted the cold, silent woman in front of him to feel the way he was feeling. However, his ranting had the opposite effect. Instead of chastising her, he stirred the Amazon inside her to life and she plunged the spears of her venom into him, effectively tearing apart the illusions he had about his capacity to love.

The cyclone raged silently while they stood across each other....tongues drawn.

In the end, she left. She had won the battle but it gave her no satisfaction. In war, it is dishonourable to fight a weaker enemy.

He stared after her...watched her walk out, her head held high while his world slowly fell around him, like withered leaves. 

If only he had let her be. Let her live. Let her love. Then maybe, just maybe, things might have been different.

Guest short story from: http://www.glad2bawoman.com