Sunday, 6 November 2011

Hell Bent

Came home from work last night knowing that Virgil was off on a date. He had been too quiet - no Facebook or Twitter activity, no texts or emails. There is no privacy these days. The flat was empty. I swallowed, got ready for bed, read Feel The Fear... as though my life depended on it.

Being inconsolable is clearly a choice in my case. Today I have resisted all of Virgil's best efforts to comfort me. We have talked, cuddled, made abortive love (I stopped it), cried, made up, given up on making love, talked about going out, talked about staying in, talked about talking.

He said, You know I like to lead. You don't trust me sexually in so many ways. You're thinking much too hard and too much about sex, our relationship, over-analysing it all. I said I was sorry I had broken it off (the sex).

Maybe just to break the stalemate (I don't know), I then commented that I was worried that he was a bad influence on me and that I was worried about getting fat and unfit. You're a very attractive man, I said, but we both know you're not fit. He finally got annoyed and withdrew under the bedclothes while I went to make a chicken casserole.

I'm typing next to the bed now while it cooks. I don't know if he's asleep or just lying there. Asleep I guess. I miss him. I want to wake him up. Why - so that I can be nasty and not allow him cheer me up?

I am despicable and impossible. Who is this person? I'm so tired.

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