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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Love stories / Romance
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 08/23/2012
Not a Love Story....
Born 1987, F, from Wolverhampton, United KingdomIt’s mid August and nearing the end of the summer holidays. To the outside eye it’s a beautiful day but on the inside I feel grey, bleak and confused. The last time I even thought about writing this story my world was very different; I was coming towards the end of my post graduate teacher training programme, had a boat load of friends and for the first time in my life I was desperately in love. My take on this story would have been dramatically different as even though on the outside I had it all, on the inside I was petrified because I thought I could lose it at any second.
My mind drifts back to 2009, when I met the love of my life. I had spent the whole day with salty bitter tears streaming down my face; hating, hurting, helpless, when a message popped up in my Facebook window. At this point I was far from interested in the fact some friend of some of my friends had commented on how beautiful I was. I mean I felt far from beautiful at that point. The night before Valentine’s day my date failed to show up at my house and rejected my calls, so I spend the day rolling around sobbing and scoffing delicious Thornton’s truffles into my mouth (the ones I had purchased for that scumbag) to ease the feeling of once again being let down. And now what, some bloke I don’t even know wants to try his luck…get lost.
“Come on, come out with everyone tonight. It will cheer you up,” He pleaded.
Please, the last thing I need is a night out with puffy eyes and an aching heart.
“I’m back from camp this weekend, it would be nice to see you.” Jeez, I haven’t even met you before you utter creep, I thought. He did have the most beautiful blue eyes though, but my head was still focused on Mr Salmon man. No that wasn’t his given name, I must admit, but he was the 32 year old bald creep that let me down the previous evening. Mr Salmon had a succession of fishy businesses and wasn’t my usual type. I had in fact only been on about three dates with him but once again the harsh bite of rejection magnifies the feelings of being needed. He was shorter than I would have liked and had a voice like a croaking frog. In fact, what was I thinking?
I quickly got changed into my sister’s size eight red tartan mid-length dress (that actually looked a lot classier than it sounds), rubbed on my instant sun-shimmer fake-tan and wrapped my long, blonde hair round the curlers. Hmmm, shoes? Always the trusty gladiator flats. I have never, ever been one for heels. I like to dance and being 5’8 I can get away with them, well I like to think so! Safety first!
I turned up at my friend Laura’s house, a little nervous, but the glass of wine in my hand and the beat of the house music on the decks helped. The girls were perfecting their bright pink lips in the mirror; casually chatting and helping each other find matching accessories to their Lipsy dresses. Wow, these girls definitely knew how to dress for a night in Birmingham. The boys were busy disputing who would mix the next track over their glasses full of beer and in he walked. Sam… in through the glass door, straight passed me to join the boys in the kitchen. His baby blue eyes caught mine as he glided though, a glimmer of shyness swept through the room. I felt something. Mr Salmon who?
Stop right there, I know what you are thinking. This is going to turn into some soppy love story, girl meets Royal Marine, and they fall in love, bla bla bla. Oh, hell no. Three years later, things are very different, but I bet you want to know how it all went wrong, huh?
I sit and stare at the shoebox in my newly decorated purple, cream and brown bedroom of my mom’s house wondering whether I should dig out the original story. 60 handwritten pages that I gave up on three quarters of the way through his tour. It sits underneath the endless light blue letters received from Afghanistan and on top of the pictures I can’t bear to get rid of. I started the story because it kept me sane. I had convinced myself that I would only ever love this person and he would be lost at war. It was my way of having memories clear as day if the worst was to happen…but it didn’t. But there it was two years after the tour, one year after the break up, still sitting in my bedroom as a reminder of how happy I once was and causing a constant ache of how unlikely it is that I will ever feel that in love and hurt again.
I spent the majority of Valentine’s night 2009 dancing my little brown gladiators off at Gatecrasher. I love dance music and I love dancing even more. Feeling the pulse of the beat through my body after one too many rose’s is something I have become accustom to over my twenty four years on this planet. It hadn’t long opened and the dance floor was full of sweaty good-looking people stomping their feet and trying not to spill their drinks. The flashing lights made my head feel quite blurry so I found him and sat down in a small booth to the left of the DJ.
“Hi” I gasped, still trying to catch my breath after the endless dancing. “You look gorgeous. Are you having a good night?” I watched his plump pink lips as he spoke to me over the ringing of the music. I could hardly hear him but focused on his pale blue eyes and long eyelashes. His shirt skimmed over his chest perfectly. We talked for what seemed like hours, the majority of which neither of us could remember the following morning. We swapped numbers and as the fuzzy head set in on that Sunday morning, I looked at a text that confirmed he felt the same way as me and it made me smile.
We arranged to go out that following Friday when he returned home from his camp in Taunton, in Somerset. Butterflies set in as I put on a cream blouse, a knee-length brown floaty skirt and a deep green mac. I opened a text. “On my way, I’m renting a car for the day as I sold mine when I joined the job. Look out for a silver car.xxx” To this day I don’t know what the car was, I just blushed at the effort he had made in order to take me out on a date. I’m guessing the four hour train journey he had taken the previous evening in order to get home wasn’t particularly pleasant either. But he did it, he did it for me. My heart is in my mouth when I jump into the car, just looking at him made my body tense up completely. As we sat over pasta our conversation turned to our careers and our ambitions. “I want to be a teacher. I’ve just finished a drama degree which was pretty pointless because I can’t act for toffee! I’m looking at jobs as a teaching assistant in a primary school this year, so I can get my experience before I take my teacher training course.” I spoke cautiously chewing my food. He was a year older than me when I met him at twenty one, he talked about how he had recently got his heart broken by a girl he had got engaged to and she had cheated on him. How could anybody cheat on him? That’s crazy I thought. I felt for him and could see the hurt in his eyes, he graciously refused my offer to put some money towards lunch and we left to continue our conversation at a bar in town.
We talked for hours and I sipped my wine, easing closer to him every few minutes. It dawned on me that after one date I wanted to be with this person, but it wasn’t as simple as that. “I’m going to the jungle on tour for two months with the core tomorrow.” He casually whispered. Really? I cursed to myself and I questioned whether I could deal with this. A man who I have just met, who seems like the world’s most perfect gentleman, is going to be ripped away. “I can’t take my phone but I can call you on the phones we carry with us while we are out there.” Little did I know when I received the phone call two weeks later was how terrible the reception was on these phones. His voice sounded like a robot every time he spoke and would be cut off every few minutes. It was difficult to carry a conversation out but we did it. I would lie on my bed for hours and hours wishing time would fly by so he could be close to me again. “Don’t worry princess, when I am back I am back for the whole summer, we can spend a lot of time together then.”
I tried to occupy myself by applying for job after job, finding a teaching assistant job with only a drama degree could be quite challenging. I must have applied for hundreds and only received two responses. At least I have an interview I thought! What I didn’t know was that in many teaching assistant jobs advertised schools often usually have someone in mind for the position. Someone who has perhaps just finished a placement at the school or a parent who has been volunteering for the previous month to help them reach the end of their qualification. I felt crushed being rejected from a beautiful junior school. My interview was challenging but I used my drama to add to my strengths and showed the head teacher my dissertation, ten thousand words about the primary curriculum, but unfortunately I didn’t get the job.
The following day I was half-way through a shift at McDonalds, yes I worked at McDonalds. Not the most glamorous of careers but the part-time manager position helped me earn a bit of spending money towards my nights out at University. Convincing myself I was going to be stuck working there for the rest of the year, I sulked and glanced down at my phone. One new voicemail. My signal was that terrible in the break room of that rotten place, I stepped outside the back to brave the swarms of wasps that flew around the bins to hear the message. “Miss Day, I was wondering whether you have found a job yet? As one of our teaching assistants has just resigned, I would like to know whether you would like to start in September?”
Tears fled down my grease filled face as I was given a glimpse of hope at a future. YES!
That summer was possibly the best of my life. The amount of joy I felt knowing I had a job to go to as of September that would help me on my way to becoming a teacher. Handing in my resignation to good old Maccy D’s after five years of gruelling work facing rude customers who would feel the need to either make perverted or disrespectful comments, looking down on you, and finding my Prince Charming, it certainly looked like a real Cinderella story at that point.
“I’m here.” He whispered down the phone, as I ran to my front door to greet him. I could see him, beaming as he walked towards my house with the most beautiful bunch of flowers, wrapped in pink foil. Ok, wow, try to act cool, I thought. He swept me off my feet and as he cradled me in his arms I felt like this two months had been a breeze and it was all so worth it. We kissed passionately and I moaned as his lips touched mine. It felt like it had been an eternity since I had last seen him. We decided to go for a casual walk through town and I wanted a thousand people to see how happy we were holding hands, laughing as the rain danced around our feet.
It dawned on me on the way home that this was it. When we would get back to mine we would actually sleep together. I was scared. I had slept with five people before Sam, not the most golden of records, but before him I had difficulty holding down a relationship, so I jumped from boy to boy…literally. But nothing could prepare me for this, actually having immense feelings for someone before you have even touched them. Like I said, I’m not golden. He had the post perfect of bodies; they sure must do some serious training in the marines to cause such a statuesque physique. I literally had no idea that phys (exercise) was a constant everyday routine that required will power and focus. Whereas, I’m content with a quick jog round the local park. Suddenly I felt insecure. Sam’s hands swept over my naked body leaving me shaking after every touch. He was gentle and cared about how it made me feel and not like others in the past that had used me for their pleasure. This felt different.
Saying goodbye was possibly the hardest thing I have had to do in my life, one glorious year later. It was the 5th April, 2010. I awoke to find his piercing eyes looking into my sleepy ones and his warm hand draped across my shoulder. “It’s going to be ok, I promise. Please don’t get upset tonight. You need to be strong.” Sam hated seeing me upset; I don’t know whether it was guilt for putting me through this or not wanting to face the fear deep within him. I felt the dread ooze into my stomach, can people really do this? Put up some kind of front to save face. I had to.
It’s hard to not be pessimistic, but you get up, have a shower, brush your teeth and put your game face on…just like it was any other day. This year was tough. I drifted away from all of my friends and avoided making plans with them. I desperately wanted to spend my weekends with him and I didn’t have a car myself at that point so it was difficult to get out during the weeknights. I felt so alone. I wanted to scream at him but I continued to make his favourite meal of enchiladas and mentally prepared myself for saying goodbye.
The first ten days of his tour Op Herrick 12 was spent at Camp Bastion, a highly protected base in Afghanistan. They have impressive gyms, internet access and even fast food restaurants, a far cry from the bases they were sent out to after they had been briefed. He sounded positive and excited on the phone. “I can’t wait to get out of here!” He was in good spirits and wanted to get out onto the ground. My feelings were quite the opposite, and I knew he was safe at Camp Bastion.
Sam tried to reassure me. “I’ve had all the right training and if anything happens to me it’s my fault, because I haven’t done my job properly.” I didn’t care what training he had received, my negative attitude flowed through my veins, and all I could think about was what on earth could prepare him for an IED. Improvised Explosive Devices were the biggest cause of death and injury and I don’t think anyone can be prepared for that. We cannot sense, what we cannot see.
Time and time again I would turn on the television to hear the devastating news, Royal Marine killed. I couldn’t bear to look at my phone; I turned into a mess, my whole world shattered around me day by day. He would ring to tell me the stories of friends who had had their lives ripped from them and you feel so selfish when you think, that could have been him. After three months, we were half-way through. It had its affects on our relationship, bodies and soul. I walked round like a zombie, feeling numb. So many nights I looked up through my window and wondered what I had done to deserve to be ripped apart. Why did I choose to fall madly in love with this person? During his two weeks leave, we both put brave faces on but things were tense. Emotions ripped through my body and I would be in tears every time I touched him. We went to Newquay for a couple of days during the fortnight. It was beautiful just to forget about everything. To the outside eye we were just a normal couple not taunted by this terrible war. I would dote on the way he called me princess and act like nothing ever mattered. “You are my world.”
Anti-depressants filled my world that following few months. I managed to somehow pass an interview for a place on the PGCE (post graduate teacher training course) but felt nothing. I just wanted him home. The amount of gratitude I felt when that plane touched the ground was incredible. He is home, he is safe.
Hard part done. Right? Wrong? Very, very wrong! The emotions I felt were magnified by one thousand. I never wanted him to leave me again. I became suffocating towards him. I wanted to quit my course, move up to Somerset, and marry him. I just never wanted him to leave. “You don’t know what it was like for me back home!” I cried. “At least you were safe. You had nothing to worry about.” His words ripped through me like a wave. He didn’t understand.
Our relationship deteriorated over the next few months… He became distant but needy sexually. He loved me but fell out of love with me. Sam told me he was going to volunteer to go on another tour, three months after he was back. I was halfway through a teaching placement at the time and the message tore me apart. I couldn’t do it again, the selfish prick, I cursed.
Only he wasn’t going back on tour. It was a lie to get me to finish with him. Of course I did. He got what he wanted, I couldn’t do that again. Two painful weeks later, I found out he had been cheating on me for the last two months. He was moving in with his new personal trainer of a girlfriend and also had told her I had cancer so we couldn’t sleep together, which enabled him to see us both at the same time. I felt sick. How much can one person put you through? Did the tour change him? It changed me.
I spent the next month getting weird texts and threatening messages from him, but finally he gave up.
That was a year ago.
Wondering now whether the empty void will ever be filled by someone who is good enough to steal my heart again.
Not a Love Story....(Charlotte)
It’s mid August and nearing the end of the summer holidays. To the outside eye it’s a beautiful day but on the inside I feel grey, bleak and confused. The last time I even thought about writing this story my world was very different; I was coming towards the end of my post graduate teacher training programme, had a boat load of friends and for the first time in my life I was desperately in love. My take on this story would have been dramatically different as even though on the outside I had it all, on the inside I was petrified because I thought I could lose it at any second.
My mind drifts back to 2009, when I met the love of my life. I had spent the whole day with salty bitter tears streaming down my face; hating, hurting, helpless, when a message popped up in my Facebook window. At this point I was far from interested in the fact some friend of some of my friends had commented on how beautiful I was. I mean I felt far from beautiful at that point. The night before Valentine’s day my date failed to show up at my house and rejected my calls, so I spend the day rolling around sobbing and scoffing delicious Thornton’s truffles into my mouth (the ones I had purchased for that scumbag) to ease the feeling of once again being let down. And now what, some bloke I don’t even know wants to try his luck…get lost.
“Come on, come out with everyone tonight. It will cheer you up,” He pleaded.
Please, the last thing I need is a night out with puffy eyes and an aching heart.
“I’m back from camp this weekend, it would be nice to see you.” Jeez, I haven’t even met you before you utter creep, I thought. He did have the most beautiful blue eyes though, but my head was still focused on Mr Salmon man. No that wasn’t his given name, I must admit, but he was the 32 year old bald creep that let me down the previous evening. Mr Salmon had a succession of fishy businesses and wasn’t my usual type. I had in fact only been on about three dates with him but once again the harsh bite of rejection magnifies the feelings of being needed. He was shorter than I would have liked and had a voice like a croaking frog. In fact, what was I thinking?
I quickly got changed into my sister’s size eight red tartan mid-length dress (that actually looked a lot classier than it sounds), rubbed on my instant sun-shimmer fake-tan and wrapped my long, blonde hair round the curlers. Hmmm, shoes? Always the trusty gladiator flats. I have never, ever been one for heels. I like to dance and being 5’8 I can get away with them, well I like to think so! Safety first!
I turned up at my friend Laura’s house, a little nervous, but the glass of wine in my hand and the beat of the house music on the decks helped. The girls were perfecting their bright pink lips in the mirror; casually chatting and helping each other find matching accessories to their Lipsy dresses. Wow, these girls definitely knew how to dress for a night in Birmingham. The boys were busy disputing who would mix the next track over their glasses full of beer and in he walked. Sam… in through the glass door, straight passed me to join the boys in the kitchen. His baby blue eyes caught mine as he glided though, a glimmer of shyness swept through the room. I felt something. Mr Salmon who?
Stop right there, I know what you are thinking. This is going to turn into some soppy love story, girl meets Royal Marine, and they fall in love, bla bla bla. Oh, hell no. Three years later, things are very different, but I bet you want to know how it all went wrong, huh?
I sit and stare at the shoebox in my newly decorated purple, cream and brown bedroom of my mom’s house wondering whether I should dig out the original story. 60 handwritten pages that I gave up on three quarters of the way through his tour. It sits underneath the endless light blue letters received from Afghanistan and on top of the pictures I can’t bear to get rid of. I started the story because it kept me sane. I had convinced myself that I would only ever love this person and he would be lost at war. It was my way of having memories clear as day if the worst was to happen…but it didn’t. But there it was two years after the tour, one year after the break up, still sitting in my bedroom as a reminder of how happy I once was and causing a constant ache of how unlikely it is that I will ever feel that in love and hurt again.
I spent the majority of Valentine’s night 2009 dancing my little brown gladiators off at Gatecrasher. I love dance music and I love dancing even more. Feeling the pulse of the beat through my body after one too many rose’s is something I have become accustom to over my twenty four years on this planet. It hadn’t long opened and the dance floor was full of sweaty good-looking people stomping their feet and trying not to spill their drinks. The flashing lights made my head feel quite blurry so I found him and sat down in a small booth to the left of the DJ.
“Hi” I gasped, still trying to catch my breath after the endless dancing. “You look gorgeous. Are you having a good night?” I watched his plump pink lips as he spoke to me over the ringing of the music. I could hardly hear him but focused on his pale blue eyes and long eyelashes. His shirt skimmed over his chest perfectly. We talked for what seemed like hours, the majority of which neither of us could remember the following morning. We swapped numbers and as the fuzzy head set in on that Sunday morning, I looked at a text that confirmed he felt the same way as me and it made me smile.
We arranged to go out that following Friday when he returned home from his camp in Taunton, in Somerset. Butterflies set in as I put on a cream blouse, a knee-length brown floaty skirt and a deep green mac. I opened a text. “On my way, I’m renting a car for the day as I sold mine when I joined the job. Look out for a silver car.xxx” To this day I don’t know what the car was, I just blushed at the effort he had made in order to take me out on a date. I’m guessing the four hour train journey he had taken the previous evening in order to get home wasn’t particularly pleasant either. But he did it, he did it for me. My heart is in my mouth when I jump into the car, just looking at him made my body tense up completely. As we sat over pasta our conversation turned to our careers and our ambitions. “I want to be a teacher. I’ve just finished a drama degree which was pretty pointless because I can’t act for toffee! I’m looking at jobs as a teaching assistant in a primary school this year, so I can get my experience before I take my teacher training course.” I spoke cautiously chewing my food. He was a year older than me when I met him at twenty one, he talked about how he had recently got his heart broken by a girl he had got engaged to and she had cheated on him. How could anybody cheat on him? That’s crazy I thought. I felt for him and could see the hurt in his eyes, he graciously refused my offer to put some money towards lunch and we left to continue our conversation at a bar in town.
We talked for hours and I sipped my wine, easing closer to him every few minutes. It dawned on me that after one date I wanted to be with this person, but it wasn’t as simple as that. “I’m going to the jungle on tour for two months with the core tomorrow.” He casually whispered. Really? I cursed to myself and I questioned whether I could deal with this. A man who I have just met, who seems like the world’s most perfect gentleman, is going to be ripped away. “I can’t take my phone but I can call you on the phones we carry with us while we are out there.” Little did I know when I received the phone call two weeks later was how terrible the reception was on these phones. His voice sounded like a robot every time he spoke and would be cut off every few minutes. It was difficult to carry a conversation out but we did it. I would lie on my bed for hours and hours wishing time would fly by so he could be close to me again. “Don’t worry princess, when I am back I am back for the whole summer, we can spend a lot of time together then.”
I tried to occupy myself by applying for job after job, finding a teaching assistant job with only a drama degree could be quite challenging. I must have applied for hundreds and only received two responses. At least I have an interview I thought! What I didn’t know was that in many teaching assistant jobs advertised schools often usually have someone in mind for the position. Someone who has perhaps just finished a placement at the school or a parent who has been volunteering for the previous month to help them reach the end of their qualification. I felt crushed being rejected from a beautiful junior school. My interview was challenging but I used my drama to add to my strengths and showed the head teacher my dissertation, ten thousand words about the primary curriculum, but unfortunately I didn’t get the job.
The following day I was half-way through a shift at McDonalds, yes I worked at McDonalds. Not the most glamorous of careers but the part-time manager position helped me earn a bit of spending money towards my nights out at University. Convincing myself I was going to be stuck working there for the rest of the year, I sulked and glanced down at my phone. One new voicemail. My signal was that terrible in the break room of that rotten place, I stepped outside the back to brave the swarms of wasps that flew around the bins to hear the message. “Miss Day, I was wondering whether you have found a job yet? As one of our teaching assistants has just resigned, I would like to know whether you would like to start in September?”
Tears fled down my grease filled face as I was given a glimpse of hope at a future. YES!
That summer was possibly the best of my life. The amount of joy I felt knowing I had a job to go to as of September that would help me on my way to becoming a teacher. Handing in my resignation to good old Maccy D’s after five years of gruelling work facing rude customers who would feel the need to either make perverted or disrespectful comments, looking down on you, and finding my Prince Charming, it certainly looked like a real Cinderella story at that point.
“I’m here.” He whispered down the phone, as I ran to my front door to greet him. I could see him, beaming as he walked towards my house with the most beautiful bunch of flowers, wrapped in pink foil. Ok, wow, try to act cool, I thought. He swept me off my feet and as he cradled me in his arms I felt like this two months had been a breeze and it was all so worth it. We kissed passionately and I moaned as his lips touched mine. It felt like it had been an eternity since I had last seen him. We decided to go for a casual walk through town and I wanted a thousand people to see how happy we were holding hands, laughing as the rain danced around our feet.
It dawned on me on the way home that this was it. When we would get back to mine we would actually sleep together. I was scared. I had slept with five people before Sam, not the most golden of records, but before him I had difficulty holding down a relationship, so I jumped from boy to boy…literally. But nothing could prepare me for this, actually having immense feelings for someone before you have even touched them. Like I said, I’m not golden. He had the post perfect of bodies; they sure must do some serious training in the marines to cause such a statuesque physique. I literally had no idea that phys (exercise) was a constant everyday routine that required will power and focus. Whereas, I’m content with a quick jog round the local park. Suddenly I felt insecure. Sam’s hands swept over my naked body leaving me shaking after every touch. He was gentle and cared about how it made me feel and not like others in the past that had used me for their pleasure. This felt different.
Saying goodbye was possibly the hardest thing I have had to do in my life, one glorious year later. It was the 5th April, 2010. I awoke to find his piercing eyes looking into my sleepy ones and his warm hand draped across my shoulder. “It’s going to be ok, I promise. Please don’t get upset tonight. You need to be strong.” Sam hated seeing me upset; I don’t know whether it was guilt for putting me through this or not wanting to face the fear deep within him. I felt the dread ooze into my stomach, can people really do this? Put up some kind of front to save face. I had to.
It’s hard to not be pessimistic, but you get up, have a shower, brush your teeth and put your game face on…just like it was any other day. This year was tough. I drifted away from all of my friends and avoided making plans with them. I desperately wanted to spend my weekends with him and I didn’t have a car myself at that point so it was difficult to get out during the weeknights. I felt so alone. I wanted to scream at him but I continued to make his favourite meal of enchiladas and mentally prepared myself for saying goodbye.
The first ten days of his tour Op Herrick 12 was spent at Camp Bastion, a highly protected base in Afghanistan. They have impressive gyms, internet access and even fast food restaurants, a far cry from the bases they were sent out to after they had been briefed. He sounded positive and excited on the phone. “I can’t wait to get out of here!” He was in good spirits and wanted to get out onto the ground. My feelings were quite the opposite, and I knew he was safe at Camp Bastion.
Sam tried to reassure me. “I’ve had all the right training and if anything happens to me it’s my fault, because I haven’t done my job properly.” I didn’t care what training he had received, my negative attitude flowed through my veins, and all I could think about was what on earth could prepare him for an IED. Improvised Explosive Devices were the biggest cause of death and injury and I don’t think anyone can be prepared for that. We cannot sense, what we cannot see.
Time and time again I would turn on the television to hear the devastating news, Royal Marine killed. I couldn’t bear to look at my phone; I turned into a mess, my whole world shattered around me day by day. He would ring to tell me the stories of friends who had had their lives ripped from them and you feel so selfish when you think, that could have been him. After three months, we were half-way through. It had its affects on our relationship, bodies and soul. I walked round like a zombie, feeling numb. So many nights I looked up through my window and wondered what I had done to deserve to be ripped apart. Why did I choose to fall madly in love with this person? During his two weeks leave, we both put brave faces on but things were tense. Emotions ripped through my body and I would be in tears every time I touched him. We went to Newquay for a couple of days during the fortnight. It was beautiful just to forget about everything. To the outside eye we were just a normal couple not taunted by this terrible war. I would dote on the way he called me princess and act like nothing ever mattered. “You are my world.”
Anti-depressants filled my world that following few months. I managed to somehow pass an interview for a place on the PGCE (post graduate teacher training course) but felt nothing. I just wanted him home. The amount of gratitude I felt when that plane touched the ground was incredible. He is home, he is safe.
Hard part done. Right? Wrong? Very, very wrong! The emotions I felt were magnified by one thousand. I never wanted him to leave me again. I became suffocating towards him. I wanted to quit my course, move up to Somerset, and marry him. I just never wanted him to leave. “You don’t know what it was like for me back home!” I cried. “At least you were safe. You had nothing to worry about.” His words ripped through me like a wave. He didn’t understand.
Our relationship deteriorated over the next few months… He became distant but needy sexually. He loved me but fell out of love with me. Sam told me he was going to volunteer to go on another tour, three months after he was back. I was halfway through a teaching placement at the time and the message tore me apart. I couldn’t do it again, the selfish prick, I cursed.
Only he wasn’t going back on tour. It was a lie to get me to finish with him. Of course I did. He got what he wanted, I couldn’t do that again. Two painful weeks later, I found out he had been cheating on me for the last two months. He was moving in with his new personal trainer of a girlfriend and also had told her I had cancer so we couldn’t sleep together, which enabled him to see us both at the same time. I felt sick. How much can one person put you through? Did the tour change him? It changed me.
I spent the next month getting weird texts and threatening messages from him, but finally he gave up.
That was a year ago.
Wondering now whether the empty void will ever be filled by someone who is good enough to steal my heart again.
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