An Erotic Tale
Rejected again.
I was lying numbly on the couch in the partial dark staring at the living room ceiling. The only illumination I had was the light from the laptop. It was another failed night. I had told my fiancée earlier that day and pretty much all day, that I was looking forward to having sex with him and he had smiled every time I mentioned it.
We even went to bed earlier than normal. We went through our normal routine of getting comfortable and then kissing each other good night. When I reached for him, he told me that he didn’t want to. I promptly grabbed my blanket and headed into the living room to sleep on the couch.
This was becoming routine for some reason. Not my sleeping on the couch, but him rejecting my advances. He always complained that we were on “my schedule”. I told him repeatedly that if that were the case, I would have worn him out by now. I guess the older we both got the lower his sex drive got and the higher mine went.
And now it here it was 3:30 in the morning and I was listening to music quietly on my laptop trying to figure out what was wrong with me.
I listed everything again in my mind that I would ask whenever he rejected me. Was I not pretty enough? Was I not thin enough? Was there someone else? Again? Did he not love me anymore? Did he always have to be drunk to have sex with me?
I mean to be quite honest, I should have known better. We agreed on black wedding rings. I thought they were cool at the time and so did he, but they seemed to be like the proverbial black cat and left a cloud hanging over our engagement.
I had never been through so many heartaches in such a short period of time at the hands of one person. I also had never truly loved, yet hated someone as much as I did with him.
It always reminded me of this joke that my mother and I shared; that we were born to suffer. Unfortunately I don’t think it was much of a joke anymore.
I sighed as I heard him roll onto his side in the bed. The only reason he was moving so much right now was probably because he was wondering what I was doing right now. I always found that amusing. It was like silent accusations and watching over my shoulder whenever I was on the laptop or sending a text message to my mother, like I was the one that had partially destroyed our engagement in a matter of three months.
I got off of the couch and turned on the coffee pot almost three hours ahead of schedule. There was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep anyway. I had this terrible curse, so to speak, that whenever I was awake no matter what time it may be, I was awake for the rest of the day.
As the coffee quietly brewed on the kitchen counter, I tip toed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Turning on the light I looked at myself in the mirror and rolled my eyes. One of the main reasons I hated sleeping on the uncomfortable couch, was because for some reason I always turned into a sweaty mess. After I was done brushing my teeth, I ran my brush through my hair and turned the light off. I walked over to the nightstand and reached around blindly for my glasses then back into the living room.
I leaned back against the couch and thought of my life before him. I was always smiling. I was always happy. I always had money in my bank account. These days an honest smile was a rare occasion on my behalf. Happiness seemed like a forced emotion that I would only read about in fairy tales. Money was a critical and touchy situation. I was working two jobs these days to make ends meet. I had done that before but only because I was desperate for work and once I had found a full time job, I had quit the part time one. Now I did it for survival.
As I sat on the couch, I kind of smiled at that moment thinking of all the times he would be drunk and angry telling me that his life was better before I came along. If only he knew it was truly the same for me. But I loved him and I refused to give up on a man that had clearly given up on himself years ago.
No one really knew it, but I blamed myself a lot for everything I had endured with him. If I had never given him the “opportunity” to ruin us, then I doubt he would’ve done it. Everyone, his mother, my mother, my friends, would tell me to stop blaming myself because “that’s just the way he is.”
I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. That was another problem. I was so very constantly stressed out by this engagement that my smoking had gotten out of control. I didn’t enjoy the habit anymore; not that I ever really did but I was racing against the clock with each cigarette now. Not to survive it, but to cut it short. That’s how dire my situation had become. I didn’t know if it was worth being alive anymore, but every time I was driving the long hour home from my full time job and had the urge to just drive my car off of the bridge, I thought of my sisters, my mother, my father, and my nieces and nephews. They were the only ones that would stop me every time.
I wasn’t a suicide watch by any means, I was just tired of the bullshit.
I glanced over at the clock on the table near the door. Now it was 4:15 am. I had only been awake for forty five minutes and I had pretty much relieved the highlights of my relationship with Mitch.
For the most part he was a good man, but when he had his bad days, I would call my sister crying like someone had just died.
I recalled the first time I had seen him. I had somehow managed to convince myself not to judge him based on his looks, but rather his personality. Mitchell Alcott Kingsley was very attractive to me, and I didn’t want my attraction to him to just be physical, so I did my best to converse with him without being drawn into him by his beautiful light blue eyes, charming smile, and rugged look. We talked about video games, which was something I had loved since I was about four years old. I found out that we pretty much liked the same games, music, and thought a lot alike. Now I wonder how much of it was true and how much of it was a ploy.
Too late to worry about that now Livie, I thought.
As I sat here silently, I secretly hoped that the music would become annoying so he would wake up angry at it being four in the morning. My response would simply be, “Now you know how I feel when I need to sleep because I have work the next day and you’re being a fool in the living room playing video games at one in the morning.” I knew it would spark an argument but as it stood, I didn’t have much I wanted to say to him anyway.
Of course my silence would spark another rift, but I always found that if I just sat quietly for a few hours by myself, all of my anger would go away into the magical land of wasted energy and I could function normally again.
Friday night’s almost argument floated into my mind for some reason. He had been intoxicated and angry about a story I had told. Instead of addressing me like an adult about it, he gave me the virtual slap in the face of taking off his wedding ring and tossing it
telling me that’s what he thought about me. He always did that to hurt me, because he knew of all the things and of all the words he said to me, him removing his wedding ring always hurt me the most.
Now I say almost argument because the moment he took of his ring and began to yell, I stood up and went into the bathroom and closed the door while he yelled. I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t worried, and for some odd reason, I wasn’t hurt. I was smiling. I had finally done something as simple as tell a story that “angered and embarrassed” him as he had done to me so many times before.
That was step one in my recovery phase as I started to think about it.
Step two was to get even for the infidelity. That was going to be the hardest step for me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I had never been unfaithful no matter what the circumstances were. Secondly, I just wasn’t that kind of person.
Was I?
Only time would tell I guess, but even though I would scream it at the top of my lungs during our arguments, I couldn’t see myself doing it back to him.
I pulled another cigarette out of the pack and lit it. Today was going to be different. I was going to do something a little dire that I had planned for months.
Today I was going to Ibiza, Spain. I had saved money secretly for months because I wanted to escape and have some time to myself. And also because I always wanted to go to Spain; it was a childhood dream of mine that I was finally going to be able to fulfill.
I was very excited about it. It was going to be the first stamp in my passport book and no matter where I went after that, if I ever did get to go anywhere else, it would be my favorite by far.