The Ugly Side of Pretty

It has been three years since I last saw him and yet the wounds he inflicted are still bleeding.

When I met him I thought he was wonderful. He would make me laugh with his dry humour and his intelligent banter. I found it a delight to be able to have a conversation without the need to explain the "big words". I felt important and good because I was able to show a side of myself I usually hide.

We were friends for at least a year. We'd hang out, laugh and talk about silly things always in a very high brow and snobby way!!! It was fun being able to have our own little jokes at things. I felt special and kind of important during these laid back and easy times. Then one day it all changed.

He told me that he really liked me and he wanted to have a "deeper" relationship with me. I was shocked. I can't say I wasn't attracted to him, because I was, but I also knew that he was married and I was not the kind of woman to ever get involved with a married man. I told him of my reservations and that while I liked him too I would not be willing to be more than friends. He seemed to accept this and was even pleased that I was not trying to get more out of him than friendship. I thought, wrongly, the conversation was over and wouldn't be raised again.

A few months went by and he started hinting at a relationship that was more than friends. At first I ignored these advances because I assumed he was testing me. After all, I wasn't the only one who had been burnt in the past by people lying. He kept getting more and more persistent and finally I had to ask him if he was serious. He confessed his undying love for me and how he wished he'd met me before his wife. I was shocked. He has three kids with his wife! Two of which were newborn twins!! How could he say this to me?
As horrible as it felt, I was flattered that he would want to be with me. I mean I knew that I was nothing special, not a catch at all. That's mainly why I was happy to just be friends, I knew I would never really have a chance.

I didn't speak with him for a while after that day. I was confused and angry that I would even entertain these crazy ideas of being with him. I had morals. I had dignity. I just wasn't that kind of woman to be in a relationship with someone who was already in a relationship and, worse still, married. It's wrong, so very wrong. I hated myself from that moment, I can see now it was during that time of not speaking with him that I had made my decision.

The next time we talked we were talking about being together. I can still feel part of me dying when I think about it now. I was sitting there, next to him, looking into his warm brown eyes, looking at his short hair flecked with grey, looking at the person who was unattainable and yet he was there, with me. When he kissed me I didn't pull away. I enjoyed the feel of his lips against mine, I enjoyed the electricity that sparked and flared between us. I enjoyed that it was wrong and I desperately told myself that it was okay. It was all going to be okay.

We were almost inseparable after that day. We talked all the time, shared secrets, hurts, joys and laughter. We shared dreams, we shared ideas and we shared experiences. It was what I'd always wanted, someone to share in my life and theirs. Yet I felt dirty and ugly and horrible, but also amazing and loved and wanted. I was so confused. I was so young. I was so naive.

It was six months later when he proposed we go on a trip together. He had to work interstate and claimed he didn't want to be without me for that long. I knew it was wrong, I knew that every time I saw him I was dying a little more inside, but I just couldn't help it, he said he loved me. I needed someone to love me and tell me that they actually needed me. I believed him when he said all those things to me. He said them so well. He brainwashed me so, of course, I said I would go on the trip with him. Part of me was so excited! Another part of me was dreading being alone with him for a week. I never thought to question why I would feel dread, I just assumed I would feel dread no matter who it was.

The next month was the trip, he picked me up and we drove interstate. I was so giddy I thought I would burst. We talked and laughed just as we always had before. This time, however, I noticed that something wasn't quite right. I couldn't tell if it was me or if it was "us". I just knew it wasn't right. There was no need to talk with him about it, I knew he felt as guilty as I did that we were doing this behind the world's back. Eventually I got the feeling under control and enjoyed myself that first day, I think he did too in the end.
It wasn't to last, nothing bad that feels good ever lasts.

After getting to the motel I began to feel increasingly uneasy. There was something strangling me, twisting and writhing inside my stomach trying to escape. I felt so sick I could barely breathe. I spent the night curled up on the floor of bathroom writhing in pain and crying because I was such a weak, horrible person. I was to be hated and despised and I knew, I just knew, that everyone else could see the disgusting being that I was.
He slept that night in the bed, I could hear him snoring, I could hear him tossing and turning. I resented him for his callousness. I knew he heard me crying before he fell asleep, I knew because he knocked on the door and asked me if I was alright. I said I was and that was the end of the conversation.

This repeated every night of the trip. I was suddenly faced with a startling realisation. He had lied to me. He didn't really love me, he didn't even care about me. He left me to wallow in my misery and face this fear alone. By the fifth night I had cried so much I was dehydrated and lacked energy. I just lay on the floor of the bathroom, staring up at the ceiling, pretending I was home and safe. I wanted so much to make the last 8 months disappear. I wanted to go back to being the woman I thought I was, I wanted to go back to being naive and innocent. I wanted my dignity back. I wanted my life back. I decided on that last night I wouldn't see him anymore. I would tell him after he'd taken me home as I was terrified of being stranded interstate. I knew that the only way I would stop crying would be to just walk away. I also already knew that he wouldn't be with me even if I wanted to stay together, not after this trip. It was over.

We drove back the next day, mostly in silence as I was still feeling very high strung and sensitive. He dropped me off at my house, he had already separated from me during the trip home. I walked up the stairs to my apartment, opened the door and fell inside the threshold. I had been on autopilot that whole time but after opening the door, I was catapulted into the present. I felt everything. I felt the anger at having been used. I felt the embarrassment of going against my morals. I felt dirty. I could feel my skin crawling with millions of bugs and I couldn't get them off no matter how hard I tried. I crawled to the shower, pulled myself up and somehow turned the water on. I stepped into the shower, the hot water washing off the bugs crawling over my skin. The bugs wouldn't let go of my skin, they tore at my clothes making them heavy and wet, or maybe that was the water?
I don't know how long I was standing in the shower for. I think my tears ran out long after the hot water did.

Now it's three years later. I still feel the dirt on my skin, the shame on my face and the label that hangs over my head. I will never forgive myself for ignoring my morals, for ignoring what I knew was wrong. I look back at that time three years ago and I cringe from being that woman. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see her, that dirty, slutty and whore-ish woman. She smiles back at me, taunting me, teasing me with her lack of care and consideration. I want to make her go away. I just don't know how.