Kalopsia

Chapter 3

Chapter 3We boarded the plane to come home and I was delighted to see that a woman who thought more of herself than she should had the pleasure of sitting next to my vile boyfriend. I knew this would please him and it pleased me. I could sleep and relax knowing that he had everything he needed around him. Drinks on tap, a desperate bimbo sitting next to him and me not going anywhere. As I drifted off to sleep with my head leaning uncomfortably against the plastic window (can they not cushion the walls on these things?) I could hear her telling him that he wouldn't believe how white her white bits were. They seemed like the perfect couple. Hopefully he would leave me for her. They could swap numbers whilst I was asleep and meet up when we got back.

As I played out that thought in my head I felt a pang of pain in my stomach as memories of his cheating came back to me. Cheating he always denied but how many “ex-girlfriends could there be that hadn't gotten over him” as he alleges?

He has treated me like such a fool and I have let him crawl back time and time again. Would his phone go off through the night for the rest of our days to come? Would I catch him looking at dating websites again “because he thought he saw someone he knew on his old account that he doesn't know how to close?” How many more times would he come back with foundation on his shirt and glitter on his cheek? Or what about the time I left something at home and caught him in the shower at 11am after he had one at 8am? And not forgetting the time I was rushed into hospital with a particularly nasty virus and I couldn't get hold of him. It later turned out he was “catching up with an old friend” and was not able to answer his phone. c**k.

The last couple of days of our painstakingly long weekend passed with me playing ball and trying to do the impossible, keep Tom happy. We did the same every day. Walked around, popped in and out of shops, stopped for drinks and snacks, back to the hotel for tedious s*x and then back out for the evening so he could get shitfaced and we could pretend to be happy. I couldn't wait to get home and get back to work.

How I avoided my first proper smack from him last night was strange though. We were sitting outside of the last bar, having a night cap as he calls it. I had had far too much to drink and the truth had started to come out. We were bickering. He told me how lucky I was and how I would never find someone like him again. No one else would put up with my s**t apparently. I let him ramble as I struggled to keep my eyes open, I was desperate for my head to hit the pillow but we still had a ten-minute walk to get back to the hotel and I was flagging. I finally bit when he told me that above all else, no one could satisfy me like he did. I choked on my drink and sprayed it everywhere as I began to laugh which obviously infuriated him. He asked what I thought was so funny and demanded that I tell him. The moment was almost sobering but, not quite. For the first time in over a year, I found some guts or maybe it was stupidity masquerading as guts. I put my glass down on the table and looked him square in the eye.

'You are not the best I've ever had. Far from it. The best I have ever had was Jamie. He was huge and he could go for hours. Your p***s is barely a p***s. It's like a p***s gave birth to a baby p***s. I didn't care when I liked you, my love for you superseded your goldfish like p***s! So no, you're not the best or anywhere near the biggest.'

I delivered it slowly and with conviction. I didn't blink and my face told him he disgusted me. What happened next, I was not expecting.

He said nothing. He stood up. Picked up his beer and downed it.

'Come on. It's time for bed.'

I stood up. Left my drink and we walked back. Silently.

He got into bed and he went to sleep. Not a peep out of him. I just hoped I would wake up in the morning.

I did wake up, clearly, as I'm now on the plane home and no more has been said. Not a word. I wonder if he can't remember. Of course, he remembers! He doesn't forget anything. No amount of alcohol effects his memory which is surprising.

He is probably planning my death. He knows I have to come home from Barcelona. He knows my friends are expecting me. He's probably making a mental shopping list of what to buy to get rid of me:

Rope, bin bags, chain saw (?), acid (?), elephant tape, shovel. Who knows how he will do it but he must be thinking about it. He wants his ex-wife dead for whatever reason and last night I told him he's s**t in bed with a small willy so my cards are definitely marked.

I awoke with a thud, literally. We had just landed. I must've fallen asleep before take - off. That pleases me. Two hours of my life not wasted with him I guess. He is hammered. Him and his new bimbo mate are trolleyed. I see them swap numbers as I stir. They didn't see me wake. Mind you, they probably can't see anything in their state. I animatedly stretch and rub my eyes. He puts his hand on my knee whilst not taking his eyes off her and they are giggling away about something. I don't know, I don't care. I stand up and they try to do the same but both fall back into their seats and begin to laugh hysterically.

They are the only ones laughing. She is mixed race with a fantastic afro hairdo and at one time was probably quite attractive. She is wearing a long black maxi dress and as she is leaning forward, seemingly in hysterics, you can see straight down this dress of hers which reveals her t**s. Both of them. n*****s and all. She's had a few kids. Either that or she was in an African tribe where she had to carry twenty paving slabs daily which were secured through n****e piercings in her now seemingly empty breasts. She's probably a nice lady. I shouldn't be a b***h. Actually, no. Even though he is an arse, he is clearly my arse and she knows it. So, that makes her a b***h. It can't have been twenty paving slabs, I'm upping it to forty.

The plane begins to empty and I am left to get our carry-on luggage whilst he exits with his new friend. I struggle collecting our two small cases and his three duty free bags of spirits and cigarettes. I eventually make it to the luggage collection point and I tell him I am going to the loo and so he needs to watch our stuff. He wasn't listening.

Whilst washing my hands in the basin I let out a big sigh.

'You deserve better you know.'

I look to my left to see a woman about ten years my senior.

'Sorry?'

'I was sitting adjacent to your husband and that woman. Whilst you slept, well, he's disgusting and you deserve better. Get out before it's too late.'

She squeezed my upper arm and walked out. I let a tear run down my cheek.

When I left the bathroom, he was there struggling with the bags. We made eye contact and there it was. That look of pure anger. The look that said, 'Wait until I get you home.' Great I thought.

We made our way out of Heathrow and I insisted on buying us both a coffee. He didn't want one but I certainly did. His breath wreaked. How many G&T's did he consume in two hours?

We loaded the bags into the car and I drove us off. He was asleep within minutes. Good. It was tempting to take a long and very scenic route back.

We made it back home in good time. We live about an hour or so away on the south coast. He slept the whole way back and until I woke him up. Which I did about forty-five minutes after getting the bags out. He questioned why we had gotten back so late and I said I had stopped off for a snack on the drive back and left him snoozing in the car.

So far, no psycho outburst. It must be coming. I don't know what is taking him so long. Maybe he wants me to start making dinner so he can attack me with a frozen joint of lamb and then eat the evidence.

Ok perhaps that was a tad too far. Or maybe not. Most people who get murdered must not realise they are in the hands of a murderer otherwise they wouldn't go near them? Saying that, look at me. It started off great and now he tells me what I can and can't wear and when it's acceptable for me to look at my phone or go and see my friends. A psycho doesn't reveal themselves straight away. They lure you in, that's what makes them dangerous. Maybe he's a sociopath? I can't remember the difference. I will look it up on my phone at work tomorrow and then erase my search history before I get home.

Yes, I know what you are thinking and yes, he looks through my phone. Sometimes he does it in front of me and sometimes he does it when I'm in the shower. He will leave it open on something that wasn't the last thing I looked at just to let me know he has been in there. There is a password on it but he has that. Obviously when he first asked for it I did ask why and he just said that if I didn't have anything to hide then what was the problem. What was I supposed to answer to that? I didn't have anything to hide so I gave it to him. Now he looks at it all the time. I don't care, I've given up caring plus I don't have anything to hide. What annoys me more is when he takes it off me and says I am not allowed to look at it as we are having quality time together.

I don't answer my phone in front of him anymore. I am worried it that I will sound to happy when I'm talking to someone or that if the caller makes me laugh he will want to know every detail about the conversation. My friends don't get in touch anymore anyway. I never answer their calls and I take hours to respond to their texts so they don't bother with me. I catch up on their news on f*******: on my lunch break.

The evening was odd. Nothing was said about 'p***s – Gate' and if anything, he seemed to be trying to be nice. I pottered about sorting out all the washing as you do after a holiday and he put on the sports highlights and had a few beers. He ordered us an Indian take away, we watched a film and then we went to bed. He gave me a kiss goodnight and rolled over. He didn't try or ask for anything. Who knew. All I had to do was tell him I hate his p***s and now he treats me with some kind of decency. Hopefully now we can live out the end of our days in a harmonious and sexless relationship.

On a brighter note, I am back to work tomorrow and I can't wait. I am barely in the office. The UK Sales Director, Greg, is accompanying me on my client meetings and I think we are going somewhere for lunch. He only comes to our office for one week a month and I always look forward to his visits. He's a nice guy. Taken, as all the best ones seem to be. He's nice and he's funny so tomorrow will be a good day.