- By girly-d
- On 01/12/2017
- 0 comments
When J first left me, I took pride in being dignified.
I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I cared enough to ask about her -This woman who had wrecked my marriage, when she decided to throw caution to the wind and go to bed with my husband.
Because there was a "her" of course. There usually is. Somewhere down the line. Despite what they say.....Because otherwise, men don't leave.
And so, I didn't ask him her name, or her age or what she looked like - I simply didn't need to know.
Because I knew what she looked like.
She looked exactly like me. Young. Pretty. No complications....
Because I had done what she did - Years before.
To someone else.
I still hate myself for it. Although nowhere near as much as she hated me at the time. And I really don't blame her. Cos I hated me too.
But karma really does keep score.
And I got back in spades exactly what I'd done to a woman who had done absolutely nothing to me, and who, in any other circumstances would have had no reason to ever know my name.
Because I would have been a no-one - Irrelevant. But instead I became a big massive someone. When I fell in love with her boyfriend - And he fell in love with me.
It wasn't supposed to have happened. A cliche. But it's true.
I'd never seen him before. Until he came into the bar where I worked, doing a favour for a friend. He was supposed to report back to him and confirm what incredible taste in women he had. At which point his friend would come in himself and ask me out.
But he didn't report back. He asked me out instead.
And that was that.
So we started to see each other. And there was chemistry and thunderbolts and lightning and all of that jazz.
And it was perfect.
Until his ex girlfriend phoned.
To tell him she was pregnant.
And then everything was far from perfect.
And it was true of course. She was. Which kind of changed everything.
I wish that I could say at this point that I called the whole thing off. So that he could go back to her, make a go of things. But I didn't. And he didn't.
We just tried to move forward and tried not to think too much about the damage we'd caused by getting together.
But it was never going to work. Too much guilt. Too much shame. Too much of everything really.
I asked him to leave. Town I mean. With me. So that we could make a fresh start. So that there were no pointy fingers or knives in the back to avoid. It made perfect sense at the time. To me anyway.
Obviously he said no. And we stayed in that town and I dealt with the pointy fingers and knives in the back, by keeping my head down and wearing padded jackets.
He drank too much to block out the shit thing that he'd done. Blamed me for the devastation.
Why not? Everyone else did too. Even though technically he wasn't even her boyfriend when we got together.
They were on a break.
But they had been together a million years and so they probably would have got back together.
But then he came into my bar and the attraction was instant - And so the break got extended.
It ended of course.
Me sobbing into my pillow. Him reconciling with her. "Because of the baby"
And that was that.
The love of my life gone. Back to the woman who'd wanted him first and who probably had never actually stopped wanting him. Until life got in the way. And things got a bit rocky. And then I came along with my big hair and my big smile and stuff....and fucked it all up for them.
This was twenty years ago.
But it kind of feels like yesterday.
I don't think I'll ever forgive myself.
And I'm truly sorry for the devastation that I caused back then.
Especially as now I know exactly what it feels like.