“Loved Out, Hurt Out”
“Didnt they ever tell you as a kid that you cant build happiness on someone elses misery?” Annie gave me a slightly reproachful look.
“They did. Read it in books, too. But back then, I didnt need that lesson. When youre a carefree child, you dont really get it, do you? Whats happiness? Whats misery? And how can you build something as vague as happiness on someone elses sorrow? Kids dream of different thingsmore sweets, more ice cream, catching their favourite cartoons, maybe a trip to the cinema…
Honestly, all my aunts and uncles were on their second or third marriageswhere was I supposed to learn morals from?
Annies my mate, always proper and unshakable. She never judged me, though. Over a glass of wine, shed actually enjoy my messy little love stories. She couldnt afford that kind of recklessness herselfbeing a university lecturer, she had to keep up appearances.
Her home life was steady as a rock. When they were younger, her husband, Dave, had a bit of a drinking problemrowdy, unfaithful, the lot. Annie had him sorted for good, though. At dinner parties, Dave would sometimes grumble about how he deserved to let loose, and shed just say, cool as you like, ‘Dave, if you cant behave in public, dont bother trying.’
Hed shut up. Eventually, he learned to take pride in being the one to pour drinks, keeping track of everyones glasses, making sure the nibbles were passed around. Annie even took him on holiday to Spain or Turkey, but hed still find a way to embarrass her.
‘You wont believe this,’ she fumed after one trip to Barcelona. ‘While I was by the pool, this idiot was at the bar chatting up some lively young thing. All smiles, cocktails, the works. And the way she looked at himlike she wanted to take him home! Oh, I let him have it later. Proper told him off.’
‘Bet he denied it all?’ I grinned.
‘Of course he did! Said I was imagining things.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘But honestly, whats he gonna do? Run off with some widow whod chuck him out in a month? The mans got nothing but cheap charm and a piddly salary.’
Then there was Mark. When he came into my married life, I knew straight away something was off. He had a wife, two kidsI fought the feelings, but they hit me like a runaway train. Love like that tears you apart.
My conscience nagged at me: ‘Stop this. Dont touch the fire. Youve got your own familywhy wreck it over some married bloke? Youll regret it. Youll cry yourself sick.’
But I charged ahead anyway. Couldnt go a day without him. He was all I saw. We drowned in each other, love like a knife at your throatno escape.
And then, all the barriers fell. Just us and this toxic, suffocating passion. Round and round we went.
Six months in, we realised we had nothing in common. But we clung to the idea that the love was still alive. I kept reviving it, forcing it to breathe.
Mark drank like a fish, lied to my face, even raised his hand to me. We were worlds apart. Id kick him out, take the keys, turn my phone offsilent treatment for days. Hed vanish for weeks, then come back with flowers and burning promises. I took him back every time, too lovesick to cut him off.
I shouldve. He drained me, hollowed me out, left me raw. So I threw myself into something newpartly to spite him, partly so I wouldnt be the only one hurting.
Then one day, after another ‘final’ fight, he disappeared. I rang up an old flamefigured every womans got a backup plan somewhere.
Victor was everything Mark wasntsteady, polite, didnt touch a drop. At first, I liked that. But a month in? Dull as dishwater. No fire, no sparkjust flatline. I regretted letting him in. Not my type. He kept calling, though, until he finally got the hint.
So there I wasalone, free, breathing easy. Didnt want anyone. A whole month of peace.
Then Mark called. ‘Lets meet.’
I ran. Still loved him, still hoped.
‘Liz, weve got to end this,’ he said, avoiding my eyes. ‘Well destroy each other. This isnt loveits torture.’
‘Youre right,’ I said, heart breaking but voice steady. ‘Were walking a razors edge.’
We parted ways. For three days.
Thenknock at the door. There he stood, champagne in hand, flowers, that smouldering look.
The night burned. We were tangled, breathless, falling through the sky.
I knew morning would bring nothing good. That night was too perfect, too much.
Turns out, all my past misery was just the warm-up. Mark dropped the bombhe owed serious money to some dangerous people. Gambling debts. Pay up, or else.
Took ages, but we cleared it. Sold his flat, his car And just like that, my passion for him drained away. That debt was the last straw.
Now? Nothing. Were like mates, distant relatives. We talk, laugh, sleep in separate beds. Drifting. No warmth left. I drank that bitter cup dry.
No happiness built.
Loved out, hurt out.
