**Sick Love**
*”Do you really think that free spirit will stay married for long?”* Lena tried to talk sense into me.
*”Well see,”* I smiled blissfully, not yet knowing those words would become the mottoand the curseof my entire life.
I remember that evening as if it happened yesterday. A stuffy banquet, the scent of expensive perfume, idle chatter about money, fake smiles. I stood with a glass in my hand, thinking how tired I was of it all. I was about to slip away when I heard an infectious laugh behind me, and I turned as if tugged by a string.
And there she was. *Katie*. Gesturing wildly as she told some story to a group of men. Slender, in a simple dress, but with such fire in her brown eyes that my carefully constructed, safe world shattered on the spot.
*”Whos that?”* I asked Lena, an old acquaintance.
*”My friend Katie,”* she sighed. *”Fair warningshes a natural disaster in a skirt. Being with her is like flyingthrilling, but you might crash.”*
I didnt hear the warning. I was already entranced. For meraised by professors who lectured over breakfastKatie was life itself. It was love at first sight. Or, more accurately, a diagnosis with no cure.
We married six months later, against my parents pleas. *”Shell break you, son,”* my father said, peering over his glasses. *”That girl wasnt made for marriage.”*
*”Shes a beautiful, poisonous vine,”* my mother echoed. *”Shell strangle you until theres nothing left.”*
But I only saw sunshine. A hurricane I never knew my regimented life needed.
The first months were madness. Shed wake me at 3 AM*”Arthur, look at the moon! Lets drive to the river!”*and we would. Shed strike up conversations with homeless men outside our flat, and within minutes, theyd tell her their life stories. She was chaos. And I I breathed it in like a prisoner tasting freedom for the first time.
Then came the first thunderclap.
The crisis hit without warning. The market crashed, and my businessmy lifes workcollapsed within months. I tried salvaging what I could, but it was useless. One evening, I came home hollow-eyed, reeling, the ground gone from under me.
Katie met me at the door. Not with an embrace. Arms crossed, she stared at me with a cold, unfamiliar gaze.
*”Well, genius? Lost, have you?”* Her voice was sharp, merciless.
I couldnt breathe.
*”Katie, I Im trying”*
*”Youre bailing out a sinking ship,”* she cut in. *”And I wont drown. I dont *do* poverty. I need stability. You cant give me that anymore. Sorry.”*
She packed in front of me. My throat closed.
*”Katie, wait please”* My voice cracked. *”Ill fix this. *Well* fix this.”*
She paused, tucked her bright red passport into her bag, and finally looked at me. No love, no regret. Just icy irritation.
*”Arthur, stop embarrassing yourself. Its pathetic. Dont call. Dont look for me. Bye!”*
The door slammed. The sound physically hurt. I crumpled to the floor in the hallway, crying like a child, smearing tears across my face. The world lost its color. Food turned to ash. The air thickened.
Katie came back six months later.
I opened the doorand there she stood. Thinner, tanned, smelling of someone elses cologne. My knees buckled. She stepped past me, kicking off her heels.
*”Well,”* she said, *”that broker was unbearable. Even his car music was classical.”*
She said it like shed just popped to the shops, not left another mans bed.
And instead of throwing her things down the stairs, instead of shouting, I felt wild, dizzying relief. *She came back. She chose me.*
*”Im sorry I failed you I wasnt enough”*
She froze. When I looked up, her expression wasnt remorseit was satisfaction. Shed been right. Always right. And Id been wrong.
There were other departures.
First, a *”guru”* who whisked her off to the mountains to *”find enlightenment.”* I didnt leave the house for two weeks. Lay on the living room rug where wed once danced, staring at nothing. Imagined her laughing with him, gazing at him the way she once had at me. The thoughts made me sick.
Then the *”real man”*muscled, with a cocky grin. I saw them in the park. He whispered in her ear; she threw her head back and laughed *that* laughthe one that had once pierced my heart. My vision darkened.
And every time, she returned. And every time, I opened the door.
Lenathe one whod introduced usgrabbed my shoulders after one return and nearly shouted, *”Arthur, wake up! Shes using you! She *bragged* that you apologized again! For *what*?”*
*”For being boring. For not holding her attention. Its my fault, Lena. Always mine.”*
I wasnt a man. I was a doormat. A waiting room for Katie. The worst part? I accepted it. Because life without her was worse than any pain she caused.
One night, after she returned from *”the stallion,”* I broke. I sat on the edge of the bed as she slept, sprawled across my side, breathtakingly beautiful.
*”Why?”* I whispered, voice thick. *”Why do you always come back to *me*?”*
She stirred, stretched, and smiled *that* smilethe one that had once disarmed me completely.
*”Because youre my home, Arthur,”* she murmured sleepily. *”My safe harbor. You always wait.”*
There was no love in those words. Just convenience. And that hurt more than all her betrayals combined. Yet when she wrapped her arms around my neck, pressed her warm cheek to my chest, my pain, my pride, my willall dissolved.
I hated myself in those moments. But I couldnt let go, even knowing the door might slam again. Id still wait. Because those stolen moments when she was *here* were the only air I could breathe. Without herjust endless, silent gray.
Katie left for good the day I nearly lost the last real part of me.
This time, with a gallery owner*”a true artist,”* shed sneered, eyeing my corporate ties. I was alone again in our sterile flat when the call came.
*Dad had a stroke.*
Rushing to the hospital, his warnings replayed in my headthe ones Id dismissed so fiercely. *”Shell break you, son.”* Id thought he meant my career, my money. He meant *me*. My soul.
I burst into the room. Mumalways composedsat weeping silently by the bed. Dad lay pale, face slack, staring at the ceiling. A ghost of the strong, stern man whod taught me life.
Something inside me *clicked*. I saw myself in his helpless handjust as broken, just as paralyzed. Only his wreckage was illness. Mine was love.
I took Mums trembling hand and rested my head on her shoulder. *”Im sorry. I didnt listen.”*
*”We always hoped youd wake up,”* she whispered.
That night, back in the empty flat, I did the first thing that came to mind. Packed Katies clothes. Almost threw them outthen didnt. Just shut the wardrobe door and taped a sign to it:
*”Waiting Room Closed.”*
The hardest part was not replying when she texted two weeks later: *”Miss our coffee. He drinks some pretentious dust here.”* My fingers itched to type *”Come home.”* But I remembered Dads face. And for once, I stayed silent.
She didnt understand. The messages cameconfused, angry, mocking: *”Arthur, what, on a diet? Wasting away without me?”* I said nothing. Silence became my fortress.
Then she just *showed up*. Dropped her bag in the hall. *”Arthur, fetch my suitcase from the car!”*
*”You misunderstood,”* I said softly, each word deliberate. *”This isnt your home anymore.”*
For the first time, fear flickered in her eyes. Shed lost control.
*”Whats wrong with you? Are you ill?”*
*”Yes, Katie. I was. Now Im healing. And it hurts. You were my sickness.”*
The withdrawal was agony. But Dads slow recovery, Mums quiet strength, and my own willnow turned inwardkept me upright.
The first months of freedom felt like convalescence. My body ached, detoxing from her poison. I caught myself checking my phone, listening for footsteps. But the spells grew fewer.
Six months later, Katie sent a postcard from a tropical island: *”No one ever waited for me like you did.”*
I moved her things to storage. Not in anger. Just hygiene. Clearing space for my own life.
Lena called once, inviting me to a small gallery opening. *”Dont worry, your hurricane wont be there,”* she joked.
But I wasnt afraid anymore. I studied the art, sipped wine, and met a womans gazenot dazzling like Katies, but steady, kind. We talked about books, paintings. And for once, I didnt have to pretend to be enthralled.
Walking her out, I realizedI wasnt anxious. Didnt fear saying the wrong thing. Just *calm*. I could be myself. No desperate hopes, no fantasies of tomorrow.
Whatever came next, it would be *my* life. My choice. My pathno more waiting in an empty room.
