Writing Challenge: Through the door – Would you?

BEHIND WHICH DOOR, (Photo credit: marc falardeau)

I’m surprised by he lack of familiar squeak from the hinges as I push open my door….he must have finally fixed that…what’s he after? I wonder. Stepping inside I drop my bag onto the bottom step and toss the car keys onto the counter before leafing through the post…*sigh* STILL writing to me with my maiden name? When will these companies accept the fact that I’m married? Wait…3 letters…all using my maiden name? that’s strange…

Carrying them into the living room I stop in my tracks as I realise I’m not alone. Frozen to the spot all I can do is silently watch a girl, about my age, sitting in my house.

She doesn’t notice me as she sits by the window scrolling through messages on her phone. She looks anxious, fiddling with her earlobe and running her hands through her messy ponytail; twisting the longest strands of thick brunette hair between her fingers. Her feet are tucked tightly beneath her and her toes are gently curling, stroking her other foot, soothing herself.

My heart aches as I watch her, I recognise all the signs, I’ve felt this way before; she’s lovesick, she’s hurting, she’s confused and there’s nothing I can do to make it any better. She just needs to ride it out, I’ve been there before…I don’t envy her.

She takes a deep breath, a sigh, as she lifts her hands to her mouth and shakes her head slowly, squeezing her eyes shut tight, allowing the heavy tears to fall. She’s thinking deeply, filled with angst; …and then she looks at me and my heart stops…It’s me…the girl, she’s me…but …how?

Slowly she stands, her red rimmed eyes fixed on me as she begins to walk towards me, raising her arms. I compose myself and start to move but I then realise she wasn’t looking at me…she was looking straight through me. I follow her gaze to a photograph on the shelf behind where I had been standing. Lifting it carefully she brings it closer, running a finger over the glass, stroking his face.

I find myself wondering why she chose that photo, why an old one? And how did it get there? I thought I had put that in an album after we got married…My train of thought is interrupted as I notice she isn’t wearing her wedding ring. Instantly my eyes dart around the room; checking for evidence of our wedding… The photos aren’t anywhere to be found, the bottle of champagne is gone…the bookshelf is looking empty…what’s happened? Has he gone?

Cradling the photo of us she slumps back into her seat and curls herself around it; My eyes sting as the memory of this day overwhelms me. I remember it, I remember the pain; thinking of what life would be like once he went home. Trying to understand how something so amazing, something…someone who made me so happy for the first time in my life would fit into my past when we both wanted it to be forever.  This was the day that it dawned on me that he would be leaving and life as we knew it would never be the same again.

I couldn’t have gone with him, I couldn’t have uprooted and followed him halfway around the world and we couldn’t have stayed together whilst living apart, it would have killed me. This was the day I decided that if he left, if he went home…we wouldn’t be able to stay in touch – at least for a while- because it would be too painful. THIS was the day that I cried to him, that I poured my heart out knowing that we had to say goodbye. The day that my heart broke and I heard his break too when I told him.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My heart raced as the emotions rushed back, I knew how it felt to be her at that moment, I had lived it  just over a year ago…and I knew what happened next. I knew she would call him, I knew they would discuss it for hours, talking round and round in circles, thinking of ways to stay together…to avoid the heartbreak…to make it work; I knew he would suggest marriage…I knew she would say yes.

But I also knew more than that, like that she would live a lie for the next year; that he was lying to her right now, that she didn’t REALLY know him and he didn’t REALLY love her. That she would have one of the best years of her life, she would be happier than ever but still she would be back here soon, heartbroken and stroking the face of her husband in an old photograph. My stomach twisted and my head spun…Was it worth it? If I could go back in time would I do things differently would I? Would I walk away?

With tears streaming down my face I sat beside her, stroking her hair, comforting her while we both felt the agony of our dilemmas; I kissed her forehead, whispered in her ear and with that she sighed…and dialled his number.

xBx

Written as part of this weeks writing challenge…click here for the original post xB

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