Day #4: Deadly Attraction
You were supposed to be mine – only mine. From the moment you smiled at me across the office, I knew we were destined to be together. You were so kind, so thoughtful, so attentive. You sought me out, and every conversation we had was tenderly intimate, creating a protective bubble around the two of us and excluding everyone else. They looked on, wishing they had what we did; hoping they could pierce the shield around us and worm their way into our cocoon.
Their envy was beautiful, and only served to make what we had that much more special.
Your smiles were saved for me. Your sweetest greetings were mine. The sparkle in your eyes intensified when we exchanged glances across the room. We didn’t need words to communicate. We were on the same wavelength, shared the same thoughts. You were the reason I so anticipated going to work each morning.
I was proud of your popularity. Everyone was drawn to your warm nature, your easy smile, your friendliness and intelligence. You politely gave your time to everyone, and when I heard your laugh ring out it made my heart sing. You were so good, so kind, so amazing, and you were mine. I was so proud of you.
There were other women in the office who became intensely jealous of our connection. They watched whenever we stole a moment to chat or exchange work-related opinions. They smirked, made snide little comments, as if their attitudes could sour you against me. They tried to make me feel inferior, that you approached me out of pity, that you felt sorry for me and it was your innate goodness that compelled you to befriend the office loner. But that wasn’t true. You meant every beautiful word you said. You intended each cosy smile to fill me with confidence and purpose.
You assured me with every look, every breath, that you loved me. To the exclusion of all others.
But that didn’t last very long, did it? While my love and devotion never waned, your head began to turn with all the attention the other women gave you. And I understood that. I did. You were the focus of female attention on a daily basis, and – though extraordinary – you were still just a man.
Always my man.
And I had to forgive you when you flirted with others. When you bestowed those knowing smiles on them that you’d previously reserved just for me. When you brushed your fingers against her arm while talking, or set your hand upon her back to guide her to the restaurant for lunch. I had to forgive you. How could I not? I loved you. So much.
But while your expressions assured me you did this just to soothe the feelings of the others, I got the feeling you enjoyed the attentions. That you began to welcome them. Invite them. The more time you gave to them, the less you had for me.
And I’d been loyal to you from the start. I’d loved no other. Wanted no other. Needed no other. When the boss questioned your commitment to the job, I’d defended you wholeheartedly. When jealous females began rumours that you were a man-whore, sleeping your way through the office, I disregarded their cruel accusations and retaliated by spreading word that they were desperate for your attentions and miserable because you turned them down. I protected you. I ensured everyone knew how good you were, how friendliness did not mean an invitation for cheap sex.
Any kind of sex.
But still, inch by inch, you began dismissing me. The intimate smiles were less frequent. You would glance my way when others did, and share laughter. Soft at first, but then growing in volume and mockery. Your eyes, once so filled with sweet devotion, now burned with mockery and your every word was intended to humiliate me.
She’s insane, I heard you say one day, scoffing at the suggestion there might be more between us than you let on. I’ve barely spoken to her.
Another day I overheard you and Betsie in the kitchen, talking over the boiling kettle: I was trying to be friendly. She seemed so lonely. But all this guff that we’re soulmates and meant for each other – no. Just no. And you laughed. You laughed as if being with me was the most ridiculous, hilarious thing you’d ever heard. As if considering a relationship with me was absurd, that it was ludicrous for anybody to imagine us together.
You’d turned against me.
I tried to forgive you. To understand. For so long, I fought to give you the benefit of the doubt, against my better judgement, for I knew you were, deep down, a good man. But when I heard you declare loudly over the general noise of the office, And why the hell would I do that? She’s such a pathetic creature – how could you feel anything but pity for someone so ugly? bitter tears scalded my eyes and my throat burned with humiliation. I tried to maintain my composure as I fled the office, but with all staring at me it was near impossible.
You don’t deserve me. You never did. I promised you everything I had, I gave you every promise of a good life. You scorned me, publicly, vocally, hatefully, and now laughter rings in my ears and looks of feigned sympathy are thrown my way; but my humiliation was not complete until after lunch today when I found a card on my desk. ‘Sorry for your loss’ was scrawled across the envelope. I heard the guffaws, the grunts of amusement when I picked it up.
So that is it, then. That’s the final severing of my love for you. I would have been loyal, and faithful, and adoring. But you mortified me, disdained my affections, and you shall now experience what it’s like to have your heart tortured, ripped out, destroyed.
One by one, everything you love will die. Slowly. Painfully. And you will be the last to fall.
You will know misery.
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