04 – Fright Night

04 – Fright Night

This was a bad night that took place almost exactly a year ago

Have you ever had to slowly start erasing people out of your life? I’m talking about the erasing that has to happen even when the damage it will do to you after could be catastrophic. The kind that leaves you cracked right down the middle and blurred around the edges.

Have you ever had to wipe the moments of happiness, love and joy from your mind before beginning the physical process of detaching them from your sight and then your life? Losing a worthless friendship is one thing. But losing love that has been built for a significant period of time in a single night because of something minute that you did is impossible to fathom.

She screams. He breaks things. I shrink. I wonder how I got myself into this mess.

She rants about how she has done everything and us nothing. He grabs her and cries, trying to force a hug out of her. She pushes him away. She is hell bent on hurting us as much as she can. She is succeeding.

Eventually, the tears and the yelling and the accusations end. The mind and the body can only handle so much. At some point, I realise that there is no resolving this tonight.

I lie in bed next to him wondering what I got myself into. He cries. He shudders – full body rolling motions that are painful to watch – every other minute. It’s a keening cry. A cry that mourns the loss of something once sacred.

She hears him. She envelops him in a hug and they cry together. For a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps this was all they needed, a good cathartic cry. A simple expression that had to go through the motions till everything was laid bare. I hug him from behind. The sounds of their pain is worse than anything I have ever heard.

She pushes him away again. I’m not too sure why. She says something. I can’t hear it. I don’t want to either. I am tired of her voice. I am tired of looking at her.

But I want it to work. I don’t want to walk away. I grab her hand in the dark. I want her to know I am still with her. That she hasn’t lost me. She pulls her hand away and I implode.

I cry into the back of his shirt. He tries to comfort me. There is no comfort here. There is only pain and sadness and loss. I pray for sleep – the one remedy that has never failed me. For the hell of it, I pray for a time machine. One that could either go back the past 24 hours or turn back the clock 9 months.

Morning comes. I get up to shower. I wash the previous night off me. I feel the marks leave my skin but can’t get her screaming face out of my head. I can’t stop hearing his cries. I can’t stop myself from seeing his anger – it had frightened me so. I don’t understand the need for such extreme emotions. I try to connect with these feelings as I wash my hair. Try to imagine what has to occur for me to get to that level. I can’t.

Is this love? Am I not in love then?

Sleep failed this time. Morning has brought nothing but regret, disgust and apprehension.




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