Not Enough - III

Note: Please read 1 August 2006, Not Enough - I, Not Enough - II first to get the full story.

“History is written by the victors”
Sir Winston Churchill

3 August 2012. I wonder if I can will the situation in my favour by continuing to write about it. Perhaps this way, I can force a happy ending for us. Either way I’m going to try.

Today’s Friday and I’m very glad indeed. Soon we’ll have the weekend to ourselves. We’ve been working on an old motorcycle together, trying to change a few bits and pieces; seat, tail light, indicators... I’ve never done anything like it before, but it’s nice to be actually involved instead of watching others do similar things on Discovery.

The day passes, nothing much happens. Except the delivery of my brand new tail light. So I come home triumphantly carrying the light, excited to try and see what it will look like on the bike. He’s already home of course, his office is only 10 minutes away. As I come in, he gets up and walks towards me, muting the TV. The look on his face is hard to place, sort of uncertain, insecure.

“We did it today, lunchtime.” He looks worried now, waiting for me to react. It’s obvious what he means.

I don’t know what to say, I try looking at the floor, fighting back the tears. Damn it why do I cry so easily! Today?! I’ve hardly had time to think, to get used to the idea. I thought I had time...

“I’m sorry. You’re upset.” He hugs me, his arms enveloping me completely. I can’t move, so I just stand there, arms hanging down by my sides. “If it upsets you so much, we won’t do it you know.”

“What do you mean ‘we won’t’? You did or you didn’t?” I push him back, looking at him, eyes narrowed. This time it’s him avoiding my gaze, I don’t know what to make of this at all.

“Well?”

“I thought you didn’t want to know details... That maybe it would help if you weren’t sure.” This time he’s looking at the floor.

“Yeah but I didn’t want you telling me in a half-assed manner either! Now you started talking, you don’t get to be vague about it! Either you fucking did or didn’t, which is it?” I feel myself getting annoyed now. Why is he playing around? I try to calm myself down - deeply breathing in and out.

“We did... I can’t keep secrets from you.” His voice sounds small, scared. “Please don’t hate me.”

Well at least that takes care of the uncertainty I was feeling, over whether he’d go through with it. That ship has now sailed. He went through with it. Tears are properly streaming down my face now but I’m hardly making a sound.

“You told me about the 25th. And now you’ve done it already. I thought I had time to get used to the idea.” I pause and press my face against him, waiting for him to put his arms around me again.

I dry my face in his T-shirt and pick up the tail light. I need to distract myself from this mess. The motorcycle is parked in the garden; I quickly walk towards it with my new light. Held against the back of the seat, it looks exactly how I had hoped, I connect it up to test if it works. He’s watching me as I press the brake and flip the light switch a few times. It must be showing on my face that I’m pleased with the result because he comes over and holds me again.

“You’re happy with the new light? Good.”

I don’t know happy is the right word to describe my feelings right now, but yes the light is good. I nod.

“We share so much together, please don’t take this personally. You’ll always be the one I love.”

He still has his arm around me as we go back inside.

There’s a sealed envelope on the dining table with his name on it.

“What’s this?” I pick it up to show him.

“Her wedding invitation.” He opens it as we sit down on the sofa. Saturday the 10th of November, 7pm onwards. As I’m reading the card I can’t help but feel sorry for her fiance. He has no clue at all. 

“I guess I’ll be going by myself," he says.

“What?! I’m not invited? She gets to fuck you and I don’t even get free food in return? Unacceptable” My sense of humour is coming back, that’s something. 

“Though I could see how it would be awkward to meet her and her hubby-to-be. ‘Hi I’m the wife of the one your wife is fucking’,” I continue. 

He pulls me towards him and we both lie down on the sofa, me on top of him in his arms, my head resting on his chest. He starts telling me absentmindedly about something that happened on his drive home, some speed trap nearby, he comments she may have got a ticket.

“You brought her here?” I’m a bit shocked; after all he’d said himself he didn’t want to bring her into our house. Looking around the living room there are bike parts, dust everywhere. “It’s filthy in here!”

He can’t stop himself from laughing. “Silly cow, THAT’S your biggest worry? That the place is dirty?”
I realise it’s quite stupid but I can’t help myself. I promise myself that I’ll clean up properly this weekend.

“You’re going to laugh some more.. I’m writing a book.”

“What book?”

“About this. I thought it might be a good outlet. Since I can’t really talk to anyone about it.”

“You can talk to me!” He seems hurt. Men!

“Yeah I can talk to you, but that’s not how it works! Women tend to talk about emotional stuff to deal with things.”

“So why don’t you talk to your best friend about it?” Honestly? He really doesn’t get it.

“Well I can’t. Not until I’m OK with everything. It’s not an easy topic and I don’t want to get into a conversation about what I should and shouldn’t accept and how you’re a mean bastard who hurt me.”

“Fine ok, that makes sense. Well if you think writing will help.”

I didn’t want to tell him. But I just blurted it out. But I don’t think I’ll let him read it, ever.

“You fucked up my whole storyline. I had 25 days to write about until it would happen. And you went and did it already!”

My remark seems to have amused him. “Sorry…” he says sheepishly.

For a few minutes I’m lying in his arms quietly. Surely, he didn’t do it in the bed like he promised me he wouldn’t... I look around some more, lift my head to look at him.

“The sofa...?” 

He nods.

It troubles me a bit, but I lie down again and close my eyes.

“I’m getting used to the idea. But I can’t promise it’s not going to come back to bother me again.” And I can’t promise I won’t bring it up in snide remarks during arguments either. I let out a deep sigh.

He strokes my back and I relax some more. Emotions sure are exhausting. I close my eyes and start drifting away.

Keep calm, all hope is lost.