Long before my (now ex) husband and I conceived our child; our relationship was mired in dysfunction and vehemence, if you are so kind to call it so. Our passion was comparable to fire and explosives, borderline dangerous. When we loved, we loved to the point of pain. When we fought, we damn near killed each other. Quite literally.
I won’t bore you with the details of my odious divorce, or the subsequent restraining order case that ensued. Rehashing the details of an overplayed story is not exactly my forte. The turbulent relationship that followed my divorce and failed restraining order is much more interesting. Confused? Me too.
It started off seemingly innocent, but in hindsight, insidious. After months of only writing back and forth in a notebook, we finally met in person to discuss our son. Using words like most civilized parents do, or so I would assume.
He looked amazing. Better than I ever remember him looking. His hair was clean cut, with the perfect amount of scruff. The kind of scruff that you can imagine scratching the shit out of your face. Tall, lean muscle, dripping sex appeal as always. His charm and witty banter flowed so naturally from him, just as it used to.
I was intoxicated by this beautiful man and in that moment, all bad memories of the past hopped on a boat and floated away. Judgement slipped and before I knew it, we were back at his place. He poured wine and put on some music and, just like that, I felt like I needed him again. So I took him.
The rendezvous started out as seldom at first, but quickly graduated to an every-other-night sort of affair. Passionate, intoxicating, dysfunctional, and yet inexplicably comforting. This was the man I took to court for threatening me with a gun. This same man now had me wrapped up in his arms almost every night because I could not keep my idiotic, horny little hands off of him. What in the fresh hell?
The relationship morphed quickly. One week we were simply getting our rocks off, the next we were cuddling up on the couch with whiskey watching the entire series of ‘The Walking Dead’. We would discuss our days and lean on the other one for support, looking for guidance and acceptance. Because, frankly, we were the only two who could understand how the other one felt – because once again we were in this together.
As I, somehow, grew dumber, the lies began to flow freely to my friends and family. I was unable to attend the barbecue due to work-related reasons. Or so-and-so’s daughter had a dance recital and I promised I would be there. I shit talked to him whenever he called and someone else was around, otherwise, they might be suspicious. He would do the same. We developed our own secret language as to how we would meet up and where through trash talking to the other person. (I did say it was mired in dysfunction, right?)
This went on for nearly a year, in this exact manner. Never once did we actually fight, and if I am being completely honest, I loved being around him for a change. But, of course, all mind-blowingly fantastic fuckery has to come to an end at some point in time. Because idiocy eventually reaches its peak. And I definitely did.
After a long night and two (three?) bottles of Merlot, we sat down on the couch to watch a movie. I itched to tell him, knowing that he didn’t feel the same way – but hoping, for a glimmer of a second – that maybe he did. “I think I’m falling in love with you again,” I blurted. Those words ignited a firestorm. Shit rained from the sky.
By the end of our “conversation” (again, if you are nice enough to call it so) there were three broken dishes and a flipped over table. We went months without talking again. Until recently. He called me to have a “conference” with him at his house, but refuses to disclose any further details.
If I am brutally honest, some fucked up part of me, not so deep down, hopes he wants me back. But it kills me to know that I can’t, not again.
About the author: Chelsea Love: I am just a single mother to an energetic toddler, trying to survive one temper-tantrum at at a time. Oh, and my toddler, too. You can find me at: http://thesassymommy.com, on Twitter, or on Facebook
1 Comment
Stay away! Intoxicating as he is, you deserve better. But, I can tell you know this already so I’m just reminding you. Thanks for sharing your story with us and best of luck with it all.