*The air between us grew heavy as Emily fixed me with a reproachful glance.*
“Did no one ever tell you as a child that happiness built on someone elses misery never lasts?” Her voice carried the weight of disappointment.
“They did. I read it in books. But as a child, I didnt need that lesson. Back then, you dont really understandwhats happiness? Whats misery? How can you build something as vague as happiness on anothers pain? No, childhoods for simpler dreamsmore sweets, more ice cream, cartoons on telly, maybe a trip to the cinema… Besides, all my aunts and uncles were on their second or third marriages. Where was I supposed to learn morality?”
…Emily, my oldest friend, had always been the steady oneunshakable, principled. She never judged me. Over a glass of wine, shed listen, amused, to my tangled love stories.
She could never afford such recklessness herself. A lecturer at Oxford, her position demanded decorum. Her own marriage was stable, unbreakable. In their younger years, her husband, William, had been fond of Bacchusdrinking, brawling, flirting with other women.
Shed cured him of that. Permanently.
At dinner parties, Will would sometimes grumble”A mans got to unwind, hasnt he?”only for Emily to reply, cool as you please, “William, if you cant hold your drink, best not try.”
Hed learned to swallow his protests. Over time, he took pride in playing the perfect hostpouring drinks, keeping count, offering canapés with practiced ease. Occasionally, Emily took him to Spain or Italy. Even there, he misbehaved.
“Can you believe it?” she fumed after Barcelona. “While I was swimming, that mutt was at the bar, whispering sweet nothings to some tart. Smiling, sipping cocktailseyes full of hunger. Oh, I let him have it when we got back to the room.”
“Bet he denied everything?” I smirked.
“Of course! Said I was imagining things.” She rolled her eyes.
“And you?”
“Let him dream. Wheres he going to go? Whod want him on his measly salary? Even if some desperate widow took him in, shed toss him out within a month. All hes got is that smarmy charmnothing behind it.” She sniffed, satisfied.
…When James came into my married life, I felt itthat sharp, uneasy pull. He had a wife, two sons. I fought the feelings, but they roared downhill like an avalanche. This was love that burned, love that broke things.
My conscience hissed in my ear*Stop. Dont touch the fire. Youve got a familywhy chase a married man? Youll drown in tears.*
But I charged ahead. A day without James was agony. He was my sun, my air. We drowned in each other. Love held a knife to my throatno escape.
And then, all barriers fell.
Alone with our ruinous passion, we circled the drain.
Six months in, it was clear we had nothing in common. But we clung to the ghost of love. I revived it, resuscitated it, again and again.
James drank without end, lied without shame, even raised his hand to me. We were worlds apart. I threw him out, changed the locks, cut off his phone, gave him the silent treatment. Hed vanish for weeks, then returnroses in hand, fire in his eyes.
I took him back. Every time. Because I loved him, sick with it. I shouldve cut him loose. But James had hollowed me out, turned me inside out, crushed me underfoot. So I fell into another mans armsfor revenge, for spite. If I had to suffer, I wouldnt suffer alone.
Then, like always, James disappeared. Another fight, another “goodbye forever.” I called an old admirerevery woman keeps a spare, just in case.
Victor was James oppositesteady, polite, a teetotaller. At first, I liked him. But within a month, boredom set in. No fire, no madnessjust flatline. I missed the chaos. Later, I regretted letting him close. *Not for me.* Still, he called, lingered, until he finally took the hint.
Alone at last. I breathed easy, savoured the quiet. A month passed in peaceful solitude.
…Then James asked to meet. My heart stumbled ahead of me. Still loving, still hoping.
“Claire, we have to end this,” he said, eyes averted. “Well destroy each other. This much fireits unbearable.”
“Youre right,” I said, voice steady though my heart shattered. “Were walking a razors edge.”
We parted ways. For three days.
Thena knock. James stood at my door, champagne in hand, flowers, that old hunger in his gaze.
…The night burned. Our bodies tangled, breathless, reckless. We fell through the sky, drunk on love.
I knew morning would bring nothing good. That night had been too perfect, too sweetoverripe, ready to rot.
And rot it did.
It turned out my past torment had been mere childs play. James confessed he owed serious money to dangerous men. Gambling debts. Pay up, or face the consequences.
Months later, we paid it offsold his flat, his car… And just like that, my passion for James withered. That debt was the final straw.
…Now? Indifference. Were friends. Distant relatives. We talk, we laugh, we sleep in separate beds. Drifting. Nothing warms me. Ive drained the bitter cup.
The love is gone. The pain is gone.
Over. Done.
