Part II

She’d gone.  She really had gone.  It had almost happened several times before, usually when I had pushed things a little too far, pushed her away or actively run away myself and then been concerned that she may not some back, but she always had.  She’d always returned so I could push things a little further the next time, constantly testing her, assessing her loyalty, her love for me constantly under examination as if I just had to prove it could not be real.  But it was real and I’d stretched it, defaced it and ultimately destroyed it. This time she’d gone, with him.  There could be no turning back; I knew that, even if she wanted to she couldn’t lose face with Phil now.  It was over.

It is an obvious cliché but I was numb, really numb, physically I felt disembodied almost to the extent that I could watch myself from the corner of the room where my emotions were hiding.  I knew how I wanted to feel.  I knew I had to grieve, to scream, to cry, to be angry, to hurt like hell.  But there was nothing but a mild nagging disbelief.  I knew she’d gone.  I knew she wasn’t coming back but still my hopes and dreams had not completely died, they were still there, deep within me, refusing to leave.  They’d made themselves comfortable and had no intention of getting up and departing at this unsociable hour.  It can’t be right, it can’t be true, this can’t have happened to me because I love her so much that it is just not possible to be loved that much and ever want it to end.  No other love could ever hope to compare to that with which I adored her.

I pictured her in my fractured mind, her face angry, defiant and possibly a little ashamed as she left:  She is so beautiful.  That soft pale skin framing her moist, pink lips.  Her eyes, so deep, so sad and pretty.   Her treacle hair, like strands of all the sunshine that had ever been in my life rolled together so I could touch it.  Her breasts… oh sweet lord, her breasts.  It hit me, I’ll never see her naked again.  I’ll see her and I’ll see her face and though he may be kissing her lips I will see them but I’ll never see her breasts again.  I tried to imagine her naked, to snatch at the memory before it fled but it was too late, as if I’d let it fall from my hands in to a sea of despondency.  I’d lost her in more ways than I could bear to take in.

Every atom in the room and the flat above and the sky above that fell in on me all at once with an unbearable density.  At that moment I did not want to die, I did not want the suffering to end, I only wanted not to exist and to never have existed because this pain could never end; it was simply not possible that such a feeling of utter desolation could ever pass.  Nothing could be the same; no laughter could ever feel as if it was not mocking laughter, deriding me for being such a fool that I could not do all I could ever do to hold on to this angel, no matter how tired my arms.  No smile would ever not be a smile of pity for how much of a cretin, how much of a total, total arsehole I was.  You fucking idiot.  You cunt.  You stupid, fucking moron.  How did you do this to yourself?  How was it allowed to happen?  All you had to do was everything you possibly could.  Too much fucking bother, wasn’t it, you lazy, selfish prick?  I was overcome with unimaginable loathing for the lamentable tosser I had become.  I deserved every ounce of pain I carried and if I had the energy I’d have made it in to a physical from that I could at least acknowledge with the letting of blood.  I wanted that pain to be visible so I could carry it before me like a penance for the rest of my time.

I was shifted from thoughts of this abstract hopelessness by a knock on the door.  Surely not?  She’d changed her mind?  She’d realised how much I loved her and how nobody else could ever come close to matching my adoration and she’d let me try again.  I’d do everything I could to keep her if only it could be true, oh please, God, let it be!

It was Jason.

“You ok mate?”