Dear Ex,
It’s been seven years since we last had contact, and today I heard that an acquaintance is living in the house we shared. I wondered what it would be like to walk back into that house, I wondered whether there was any sign of what happened between us in there. I doubt it, but I know I could never step over that threshold ever again.
Do you remember it the way I do? Do you remember how we excitedly followed the letting agent from room to room knowing that this was the house for us, the place to start our story? Well. what a story that became. I suppose it started when we first met, when you couldn’t take your eyes off me, despite your wife being present, when you got my number from a mutual friend and contacted me to thank me for being a breath of fresh air in your terrible life, despite your wife and children being under the same roof, despite your promise to be faithful to her. Do you remember how I tried to dissuade you? How I told you that I didn’t want to cause a mess, but you pursued me, and you left your wife.
Before long we were together, I mean it was a matter of weeks. Do you remember the first night we spent together? You wouldn’t let me sleep, I’d dose off, but you weren’t tired, so you would jolt me awake every few minutes. I’d never known anyone to behave like that before. I thought it was strange, a little childish, but you told me that your wife was so dull and boring that you were just excited to finally have someone to talk to who was as amazing as me. I made you promise to let me sleep next time. I didn’t realise that you were going to start controlling my sleep pattern in only a few short months. It had never occurred to me that a grown man would do that.
Do you remember how happy I made you? You told me all of the time. You told me I was perfect, I was the best, the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the funniest, the sexiest woman you had ever met. We laughed a lot. You couldn’t keep away from me. You told me that you thought my family relied on me too much. I’d never noticed before, but you made sure to point it out. The lifts in the car, the babysitting, and just generally being there at the drop of a hat. That’s just how my family works, but you sowed a seed, and suddenly I wasn’t sure if it was okay or not. A distance grew between us, my family and me, and a resentment too. You were clever, I was oblivious.
Then you told me about my friends, how they told you I embarrassed them. I felt hurt that my friends would say that, but you and I both know that they hadn’t. You were just so insecure that you were jealous of my friends, so you lied to make me doubt them. It felt like you were the only one who really had my best interests at heart. My world was shrinking.
So we walked from room to room, behind the letting agent. We talked about the cosy nights we’d have by the fire. The barbecues in the garden. We sealed the deal. I was excited, but I should have been afraid.
On the first night you picked a fight. We’d drank a bottle of champagne, I said something you didn’t like, the details are hazy. You picked up a chair and threw it. It smashed. I should have been scared, but I was angry. Why were you blaming me for your mood? I shouted at you. I didn’t realise that you were just waiting for me to lose my temper. You shouted back, you called me the most disgusting names. Suddenly I was the worst woman in the world. Now I was ugly, stupid, boring and frigid. I was stinking, selfish, vile and a pig. I’d never known anything like it. Then you called me a cunt. I slapped you round the face. Do you remember? You laughed! It was almost as though it was exactly what you had been waiting for. Self defence you called it, but we both know that was just an excuse. No fists – just slaps, pushes, and hair pulling. The punches and kicks would come another time. You were saving them, you wanted to know how much I would take and still come back to you. This was just a test of the waters. You held my arms by my side and whispered into my ear how much you despised me, then when I was a sobbing wreck, you held me, you kissed me, you were so sorry. You soothed away the hurt you’d caused. A perfect cycle.
So if those walls could talk, they would tell a tale of abuse, of gaslighting, of lies told. They would whisper of denials, of stories changed and they would shout of blame shifting, of the rainbow of bruises, fresh and red, sore and blue, fading and green and the faint yellow tint of finger marks around arms that were ever present. But they would also talk of the brevity of it all. Less than a year, not even a full rental term. They would talk of a lucky escape, where the stars aligned, and one lucky woman had the fortune of understanding what was happening and went running back into the arms of her family and friends. Do you remember it as I do? Or have you changed the facts? Shifted the blame? Did you tell your new partner how I’d wronged you? I don’t really think I need to ask, do you?