Lost in You

After paying my bill, I take my manila envelope and walk out of the office.

The sun hits me in the face; I squint my eyes and start rooting around in my purse looking for my sunglasses. Popping them onto my face, I just stand there for a moment, take a deep breath and start walking to catch the next train. Pulling out my cell phone from the front pocket of my purse, I start dialing my best friend Pyper.

“Hi this is Pyper! I must be treating my clients like royalty at Shimmer & Soothe Salon and Spa! You should be jealous that you aren’t here yourself! Leave me a message and I will get back to you to schedule the appointment I’m sure you want to make!”

I laugh at my friend’s message as usual and wait for the beep.

“Hi, it’s me. Well it’s done. I just signed the papers and left Clive’s office. Why do I feel…?” I stop talking and sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know how I feel. Part of me feels empty and part of me wants to host my own divorce party. With cake. A cake that has a bride on top holding a knife with the bloody groom in a pool of his own blood at the bottom. They really make those you know. Crazy right? Anyway, give me a call when you can! I’m headed home to do some more packing. Kisses!”

I press end on my phone and shove it back into the front pocket of my purse. I walk through the subway entrance, scan my link pass, and wait for the T to arrive. I start reflecting on my life here. Deacon moved out a while ago. I had to threaten to call the cops if he didn’t get his ass out. But I am leaving Boston for good. I still remember coming here seven years ago to attend the journalism program at Boston University. While it wasn’t my first college choice, I will always look back, and love having lived here. In fact, once I married Deacon, I always thought I would stay here forever. Instead, I’m packing up and moving my life back to Chicago, Illinois. I’m going to move in with Pyper.

The T finally arrives and I step in looking for a seat. I take a seat towards the back and sit next to the window. Leaning my head back on the seat, watching the subway walls as they fly by, Deacon’s handsome face comes to my mind. Willing to do anything to win me back, he brought me flowers over and over. He gave me sentimental cards pouring his feelings into them, telling me how sorry he was, that he made a mistake and of course he promised that it would never happen again. He bought me jewelry, offered to move away with me to start over, told me he couldn’t live without me.

One time, after I had kicked him out I came home from work to find he had let himself into our old apartment, filled it up with flowers, made me dinner and once again pleaded with me not to leave him. I was so close to relenting. I can still close my eyes and remember the good times, the laughs we shared, all the times he tenderly made love to me and I felt like I was the center of his universe. As crazy as it seems, I know in his own demented way he truly loved me. I know I loved him.

That night, I almost gave in; it wasn’t because of the flowers or the dinner, it was the pure anguish I saw in his eyes and the tears that trailed down his cheeks when he begged me not to leave him. I looked in his eyes, really looked and the sight astounded me. I had never seen him cry before; but it wasn’t only that. I could see the love there. I could see that he truly wanted to work things out and was pleading for me to stay. Part of me wanted to give into him. I could see myself jumping into his arms and telling him we could figure it out and try… really try to make it work. I wanted to be able to tell him that I forgave him but in the back of my mind I had realized something in our time apart. Our marriage was a sham to begin with. The fact that we had made it for four years was a freaking miracle and believe it or not, choosing to stay would have been the easy way out. Staying was easy. Choosing to move on, the hard part.

I shattered his heart that night. I looked him in the eyes and told him once again to get out of the apartment and that I didn’t want to see him again. I told him there was absolutely nothing he could do to make the situation right and that he needed to just stop. Stop trying. Stop buying me things. Stop coming over. Stop trying to fix “us,” because it couldn’t be done. We were broken. We were over; the marriage was over. When all of his efforts failed to work, and he felt desperate, he became mean.

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