“It’s you I want.”
Those were the words I’d never expected to hear. Pushing me through the doorway as soon as I opened it, she kissed me, long and lustful and full of that raw kind of passion that comes after months and months of tiptoeing around each other wondering whether or not the feeling was mutual.
The moment took over, and in seconds her hands were ripping my shirt open and my hands were loosening the catch on her pencil skirt. A few seconds more and there was a pool of clothes at the foot of my bed, and the air thick with animalistic sex.
It was exactly what I’d been dreaming of, and she said as much the same. We stayed in that room for a day or more, emerging only to eat and use the bathroom. We were wrapped up in each other, and couldn’t have been disturbed even if a small army stormed the building.
Things changed after that.
Things got serious. The tension fell away, and we became a couple. We spent our weekdays working while distracted and speaking to each other on the phone each evening, digging into each other’s lives and loves and losses. Getting to know every nook and cranny of our minds, our personalities, our very being.
We spent every waking minute of our weekends together. Walking lazily through town hand-in-hand, looking in the windows of home furnishing stores or boutiques full of the kinds of dresses I loved to see her in. Sitting on the banks of the river as the sun set and silhouettes danced before us, taking turns to describe hopes and dreams. Not caring about the passage of time, or whatever ills surrounded us.
Eventually we moved in together, things serious enough to start planning to fulfil those hopes and dreams. Being all excited about decorating our apartment, taking holidays in sun-kissed places and crumbling capitals. Enjoying train rides to nowhere in particular, watching the countryside amble on by. All the while being hopelessly in love with one another.
We had eyes for nothing but each other, and it was a sense of bliss I hadn’t ever experienced nor ever expected to. To me, life had become the fairytale I’d always dreamed of.
Of course, as the weeks and months and years went by, we had our disagreements and our fights, but they were never really serious. Just petty things, but as life is wont to do, those petty things soon began to add up. Small fights became bigger fights, and bigger fights became terminal issues that I never could work out, not even with the help of others. Something was pulling us apart, and there was no way I could control or influence it.
I left, just over five years to the day of her knocking on my door.
I came home from work early one day, to change into a suit before an important meeting, one that could have solved a lot of the financial problems we’d had. I found her in the bedroom, entwined in another man as we’d once been. She had that same look in her eyes, that carnal desire, and that was what hurt me the most. She made no apologies for her actions, simply saying that it had been coming for a while. I disagreed, would never have done that to her, but in some way it was a good thing.
It brought me closure. Instead of fighting against the tide to save things, borne of nostalgia and sentimentality, I could now move on. I did just that, moving into a new apartment. A clean break.
Rather ironically, I ended up closing that deal. Made a lot of money from it. Some days later she turned up at my door. To this day I still have no idea how she found out the address. It wasn’t so unexpected, though. I opened the door, and wearily asked her what she wanted.
“It’s you I want.”
“Not this time, Louise. Not this time.”
I closed the door on her, leaving her there to ponder her next move. She rang the doorbell again, but I ignored it. She eventually went away.
A clean break had to be just that.
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