Email

Email 1

To: You @ …2

From: Me@….3

Hi. Sorry haven’t been in touch lately but things haven’t been easy this end. Anyway I hope you’re ok and not working too hard and all that. 4

This is strange really, but I’m sending you an attachment that I’d like you to read. 5

We’ve been friends for a long, long time now, but there are some things I really need to say.6

Take care, it’s been.7

Attachment/this is it.doc8

So, this, it transpired was one of her final emails, artfully timed to reach its recipient after she’d, after she’d… What on earth is wrong with me? I can barely bring myself to write the fact that this particular email was received after she died. Why does it pain me so? I know the dreams are recurrent, they develop a painfully night following night, although I rarely see myself holding her again even though I find myself craving further physical contact. Yearning to stroke once more that blonde framed head, the shattered cheek, the rent brow, and yet I know that all the while I am holding her, someone, a man, I’m certain it’s male, watches me warily, mistrustful and jealous. And that tattered feather will not be loosed from her fingers.9

What would this attachment reveal? More self indulgent ranting? A declaration of truth at last? Sent to a close friend of long standing, one she deemed worthy of terminal contact, and one I was due to meet tomorrow. Would this file reveal any further information, would its contents prejudice me against the woman who’d received it, someone who could undoubtedly add more to this jigsaw of a life unlived.10

Attachment - Remember me when I am gone away11

Remember me when I am gone away…. As you know that’s always been my favourite poem and it seems quite strange writing this when I know you’ll be reading this when I will simply not be here. But I don’t want you to think too badly of me when you do eventually see this, although you may when you hear what I’ve got to say.12

I can still recall the day that we first met all those years ago in school when we had such daft dreams, well I did. You were always far more stable and grounded than I ever could be, I don’t think you ever spoke of what you’d like out of life, and you still haven’t. I often wonder if you’re really happy with your lot, you seem so secure yet I wonder if you’re masking your true emotions behind that façade of contentment? What really makes you happy then? In spite of the years that we’ve been friends I’m not too sure if I can actually answer that. And as for me…well I know that you suffer me through habit now more than love or affection. It seems to me that you’ve always considered me an immature talentless fool with a propensity for being stubbornly juvenile. And perhaps you’re right.13

It’s not for me to answer that question.14

You have been a great friend when I needed some things from you, but I don’t think that of late you actually like me. And I don’t know why. You seem to put up with me, to tolerate me, the time we’ve spent together seems almost on sufferance, like you’d rather be with another of your friends, that for them you’d make the effort, I’m like worn out slippers you can slip on and off. Well, I don’t want to be like that, that’s how he treats me, and I’d have expected more from a friend of such long-standing intimacy.15

Take for instance the fact that you always seem to be telling me off. If I’m not being ‘naïve’ then I’m being foolhardy in my vain hope that this ridiculous situation will eventually sort itself out. I’m not stupid. I know that this can never be resolved. He doesn’t love me, he hasn’t loved me for years, I’m well aware of that. I don’t think he’s ever truly forgiven me for pulling away when I was seventeen. He still recalls the pain of that separation, he must have loved me so completely, and yet I didn’t appreciate it at the time, did I? I just wanted to run away. Any you, how did you react? You remained oh so friendly didn’t you? Did you think I didn’t know how you felt towards him? It was so obvious that you’d have loved to take my place, to be the one receiving all of that love and attention, to be thought of as special, not just to be the good old friend, but the object of it all. But it wasn’t going to be, now was it. Although you damn near fell over yourself in trying to catch his attention, he simply wasn’t and isn’t worth it. And that night when he did take you out, it made me smile so very much because you were just so excited at the prospect that he’d take you out – my cast off! But nothing came of it, he just about managed conversation, didn’t he? Which is more than he does nowadays. Though we do sometimes manage the usual, as I think you may have heard once or twice. I’m sorry, but the temptation was just too great with you in the house. Neither of us could resist the idea of seeing how much we could get away with, a stupid thrill of forbidden exhilaration I suppose, still, it made a change from the violence.16

I know that this probably sounds like more juvenile ranting from me, and it possibly is, but you see, I’ve decided that it’s just not worth it anymore, and like those old Viking warriors I’m burning everything, including my ties, my intimacies or whatever. I’ve always appreciated our closeness, but it’s not enough and I do think that you’ve always been there to judge and criticise me in a way no other person can. I don’t feel that you’ve ever given me a compliment in all our time together, you’re very like him in some ways, you know. You’ve never been there to tell me I look good or not as the case may be, I haven’t looked particularly good for some time now I know, but then I don’t have much left in me apart from a large stock of concealer and foundation.17

The first time I showed you a bruise I wonder if you actually believed me? You always did think very well of him, that you possibly doubted what I told you. Well, it’s all true, it always has been. I’m not saying that I haven’t behaved badly at times, and yes, I have lashed out once or twice at him but does that give him an excuse to push me down the stairs, to kick me in the stomach, to punch me in the face? I have scars that few, if any, ever see. They’re on my legs and knees, it’s easy to say that I fell over isn’t it? But you see, I’m not clumsy really, I never have been. The scars I wear on my knees are from being pushed onto broken glass. I was just lucky I didn’t need stitches, he has always been careful to make sure that things aren’t too broken, just in case, I suppose. Or should I say he doesn’t’ really hate me all that much then. You saw the vestiges of my black eyes, I know I tend to look tired anyway, but sleep isn’t a refuge anymore, my dreams haunt me more than my days. Yet why am I still here?18

Because to leave him would be to concede defeat. It isn’t my doing the fact that this once apparently idyllic relationship has deteriorated into hatred is it? I’m not the one who went out and picked up a loose knickered slut am I? Yes I know I haven’t always been totally faithful, and God haven’t I been reminded of that fact often enough? But I didn’t take it the final step now did I and actually want a relationship with someone else, because I always thought that he’d just be there, without considering the fact that he is just another human being like the rest of us. Perhaps I took him for granted. Perhaps I’ve deserved what I’ve got.19

I don’t take defeat. Why should I let him win? He’s screamed at me often enough that when we’re over then I’ll never find someone else – how arrogant is that? But he’s probably right isn’t he? I don’t want anyone else, I committed to him for life the day I said yes, was that a mistake? I don’t need anyone else, and I certainly don’t need me. He tells me that the person who hates me more than any other is me, he’s almost certainly right. I’m tired of being me. I’m tired of being what I am. I’m just tired of who I am. But, please let me reiterate this, I am not a victim and please don’t ever regard me in that way. I’ve had quite a happy life up until these past few years; I’ve been lucky, fortunate even in my choice of career and friends. That is, until he smashed everything.20

So how do I continue with my normal everyday existence, life is far too emotive a word to describe how I spend those waking hours. My career is a refuge. My colleagues, some of whom are aware of my reality a support, but they fail to understand why I remain here. What else is there? This was my home. I have built this and watched him destroy it systematically. Gone is the cosy domesticity of our house, this is now a shell, I’ve lost count of the items I’ve replaced, tried to repair or simply thrown away. But they’re just objects at the end of the day, they can be replaced and repaired, but I can’t be replaced or repaired now can I? My scars may whither, my tears may dry, my memories may fade but I can’t escape who or what I am. I could learn to control my emotions, I could learn to leave it all behind, but why should I be ashamed of what I am? Why let him win? He doesn’t deserve it. 21

Oh you may think me vindictive and cruel in my refusal to let him free. How does it go, if you love someone you should set him free? No. I think of Katherine of Aragon, she wasn’t dissimilar to me, now was she? Twenty years with that despotic child Henry, and then he falls in love with Anne Boleyn, who I just can’t vilify in spite of empathising with Katherine, as her fate wasn’t exactly paradise now was it, but look who she produced. Now there was a woman…. He doesn’t deserve any of this does he? I can see that you may feel sympathy for him and in your heart I’m sure I can hear you telling your soul that you’d never behave in such a pathetically claustrophobic way, clinging on, refusing to acknowledge reality. But it’s my choice, and it’s my continuation.22

I’m sorry if this has turned out to be very different from what you may have been expecting from me, but it’s the time for truth. No lies anymore, it’s not my place to hide any longer. I want everything out in the open, which is why I’ll tell you exactly what is going to happen. Please don’t be shocked but there is little alternative left to me.23

You probably know that I’ve flirted with the big adventure before. The first time he found me and I awoke, much to my disgust. I can’t remember how long I was drifting away, I just wish he’d left me. Well, he did the second time. Went shopping and abandoned me to swallow so many tiny white promises I hallucinated for hours. That wasn’t pleasant. Neither were the hours spent throwing my heart and soul up into the pan as he watched TV and screamed at me that he didn’t care and did I want him to go and buy me more pills. How would you like that? I had to take time off work to sleep that one off. They tell me I could have damaged organs through my abuse of painkillers, but they don’t deaden the pain in my spirit do they? Nothing can do that. But this time I have it all planned carefully. It’s a wonderful thing the Internet isn’t it? You can find anything at all if you look hard enough. So I’ve worked it all out to hopefully a successful resolution. I know the exact dosage and how to wash it down, not for me the cheap exit thank you. I intend to go out with my favourite chilled white wine, a decent book and candles. How romantic. Just like Juliet – I don’t think. And what about him? Oh yes, he’s coming too. He doesn’t know it but it’s time we took our final steps together. If it’s decided that we remain wherever we’re going then so be it, if we’re parted then so be it. But I’m making sure that he’s not surviving this life without me. Perhaps his hell will be me, not a huge change there then he’d say.24

Two children taking our first steps to the rest of our lives. But I’ll make sure that it all looks right, it has to be a fitting end to everything. He was the finest but he isn’t any more. And no one will believe me. Perhaps if they see what he does when he kicks off perhaps the ridiculing of my behaviour may cease, who can say? I’ll leave it to the professionals to decide, because they will be involved no doubt.25

I just hope that someone sees the truth of this situation, perhaps they’ll decide we’re not a story, who knows how the fickle tastes of the media change. They’ll more than likely be interested in some pathetic celebrity scandal than the reality that so many of us cling to and hide behind everyday of our sad little existences. So be it. They may want you to tell them all you know, do it if you must, but be honest, about both of us if you would. That’s all I ask. For whatever our friendship has meant over the course of our lives, please be honest about both of us. You’ve known us for our lifetime. I’m not a saintly victim, but neither is he. I’m not an evil calculating clinging pathetic sad case, neither is he just a brutal abuser or whatever adjectives could be flung towards us. We were people, once.26

I’ve left further instructions about what I’d like to go out on. Someone will probably find them, but please would you ensure that they’re carried out. I want a proper one. No idea about him, loud and tuneless probably. I want lots and lots of tears, weeping and wailing please, lilies of course because they are death and poppies would just die, how appropriate. That’s me, poppyfied. 27

Am I being selfish by requesting such mourning? Do I really deserve to be mourned for what I am to do in these next few hours. I expect we’ll be found by strangers, that’s the way it has to be. I daresay that once you receive this you’ll alert someone and the wheels of legality and society will press into motion. We’ll be a small story on the news perhaps, an item of interest for the morbidly curious. Yet does our story really have any value in our shallow society where it matters more which label handbag you carry than the homeless and the poverty ridden who cower in their run down estate slums, those that they laughingly call home. My home can sometimes be called a slum, certainly. But if I so desired I could live away from all of this damage and destruction, but I choose not to. It’s my decision to live like this. No one forces me to stay here, it is my own free will. How many addicts are forced to take the drug of their choice when they initially find what they sometimes feel is their relief. I’m sure most of them choose to fall, they may not choose to become addicted but they make that first crucial step, don’t they?28

And so do I. This is what I have decided upon for the course of my wasted life. I don’t feel there was the slightest possibility that I could ever live up to that pathetic potential that I once laughingly dreamed of. What could I offer to the world? What can I offer to the world? The answer must be very little indeed. What is there for me to give? Sure I am free with my time with others, I give my paltry amounts to the requisite charity, I donate my old clothes, although old is hardly the word as I have so many that few are ever worn out before I tire of them. I buy those annoying charity singles that dominate the pop charts but barely play them, each gathers dust before its annihilation at his hand. Clutter queen, that was me, it was one of my traits that really annoyed him. Even more now.29

When we were happy, and we were, once upon a far distant time, my habit of acquiring all sorts of tat was amusing. He thought it quaint to buy me even more of those pretty useless baubles from those sweet shops selling all sorts of rubbish. Postcards of whoever, whatever, decorated tins, enamelled earrings, pencil pots, mobiles to hang from the ceilings, key rings, pencil tins decorated with childhood favourites, fridge magnets, fluffy pencils, photograph frames, scented incense sticks, oil burners, angels, cats. All of those things I just had to have because I liked them. How many fluffy key rings does one need to open the front door? Yet I acquired all of those. Not to mention the fripperies of being me. How many shades of nail varnish can you possibly need became a familiar cry as I cluttered our original bedroom. Yes, but some dry differently. He didn’t understand why I needed so many sets of underwear either, not that he complained too much about some of it, even added to the collection when he was in the mood. Not lately of course. I expect he found others to spend his money on. Either that or alcohol. Yes he has started to drink quite heavily of late. That’s where he says he’s going when he vanishes for those lost weekends.30

I don’t really know where he does go, if I’m honest. He says he’s out with him. Oh yes, him. It’s all his fault really. If it hadn’t been for his desire to introduce him to all of his delightful college friends then who can say then what might have been. I’m sorry to say this, but I can honestly shout this louder than anything else I ever have screamed in my entire existence. I loathe, detest and hate that man for his desire to wreck what we were. And his reason? He didn’t like me. He’s never liked me, I just don’t know why. I’ve always detested him for his shiny shoes, his gaudy ties, his thinning hair and his sheer bloody arrogance. You never did have the dubious honour of meeting him now did you? Lucky you. Perhaps you’d have liked him, he talked big, full of where he’d been and what he’d done on those stupid adventure holidays he continually endangered himself with. I often used to pray like a little girl that perhaps this time his parachute wouldn’t open and he’d smash to the ground, a crumpled doll. Or his white water raft would explode, miraculously claiming only the one victim, all the others aboard would obviously be saved, they’d never done anything to me, so why should they suffer? No, just him. With his arrogant ambition to be a professional – that’s a joke if ever I’ve heard one. His thought that all women would fawn at his feet, his attempts to be a classy cook, you should have heard what some of his former acquaintances used to call him, miniscule man was one of the cleaner versions I discovered. It’s funny how one encounters these women isn’t it? 31

No, I blame him for most of this. He always knew that we were us, and yet he went out of his way to destroy. That is unforgivable. That is inhuman. Does he deserve to even breathe the same air as the rest of the human race? Oh I don’t think so. I often muse whether someone will discover the truth behind his façade of ambition, that he really is rather an inadequate little man in spite of his standing over a foot taller than me in his obviously designer socks. He wouldn’t wear the chain store versions I’m sure. To me he’s just a tosser. Sorry, but that’s how I feel. And by the way, I’ve written to him as well telling him exactly how I feel for what he’s done to us, well not directly to him. I’ve left a copy of what I would like to send to him on my faithful friend the pc. How I love that machine! The hours I’ve spent detailing my everyday existence, my thoughts for what we laughingly call posterity. And of course have saved it all to disc. One has to have a back up. Just in case. 32

So when it’s over, they’ll find it, and if they don’t, please would you tell them that a record does exist which may go some way to explaining why things have to be the way they are. I’ve tried to be fair in some forms, I don’t totally blame anyone apart from that creation of fantasy, that arrogant wanker. I’m sorry to descend into obscenities but he really has burst my dams of decency. 33

You know it was him who told everyone about that party, don’t you? I know I did wrong and the drinking was no real excuse for misbehaving like that, but why did he have to tell him? Simply because he could and of course everyone likes to weald a microbe of power over another individual, like Iago. Why did he do what he did to Othello and Desdemona? Was it jealousy? Or was it simply because he could? I prefer the latter theory. There is nothing more attractive than power. Witness the countless obese politicians who have affairs with beautiful younger women, or should that be the reverse? What do these women, who could surely select far more attractive breeding partners see in these bloated men? Power. Status. The thrill of being superior. We see it too when super models and movie starlets date hairy, addled former junkie so called rock stars who have long ago descended from the firmament and who are living on past glories. Why would a delectable young, nubile and more than likely empty headed model be attracted to someone who’s inserted every known chemical, legal or otherwise into his body via a variety of orifices. They surely can’t be that attractive in their natural state now can they? But they have their own glory and power now don’t they? They can hide behind the banners or mantles of the tortured genius that no one could possibly understand. These girls claim that they’ll change their men; of course their men have served no end of days in rehab clinics who’ll happily fleece them of a considerable part of their multi million-dollar fortunes. Tell their ‘people’ that they’re clean and happy now and that this is the start of a new life.34

We see their images in those plastic fake glossy mags, all those I never want to buy yet will happily lap up whenever I’m having a hair cut. I’m far too superior to actually spend money on who is doing whatever to whom but I’ll gladly inhale the remotest dust of gossip if it just happens to be there. Aren’t we all the same? I know you claim not to care about all of this glossy ridicule but you must care a little, who doesn’t? It’s all too pervasive a part of our existence. They smile with their bleached and capped oh-so perfect teeth from their air-brushed pictures and swear undying love for each other, wander off hand in manicured hand to the golden sunset of those Hollywood hills and that’s it, happily ever after. If only this were a fairy tale… 35

But of course reality snaps back, and within a few short months, maybe a year, those golden couples are no more. He’s back on the hard stuff, she’s in a clinic being treated for depression or an eating related disorder, all lovingly recorded in suitable words and pictures in the same glossy magazine that probably had exclusive rights to their wedding but could only print a miniscule sample of the photographs just in case someone was offended by the sight of people actually eating. They don’t eat, how otherwise do they stay so staggeringly slim. Because they are not real. They are manufactured images we so aspire to. We devour the news of their trauma via web sites and news pages, and everyone wants to be somebody.36

I always wanted to be someone else. I’ve never wanted to be me. That’s probably why I always tried to change my handwriting, my hair colour, my weight, my shape, my music and clothes tastes, everything about me I played with. When I was younger it was just a case of writing implements. But when I had the money it spread to bigger things. The beauty treatments to rejuvenate my not so old body and my still smooth face. The exercise sessions to tone and firm, the glamorous clothes suggested by style gurus to make me look my best. And all for what? For me. No one else. What would’ve been the point for him? I could walk around the house naked, and I did frequently, and he’d rarely notice unless the mood for relief, for scratching that proverbial itch fell upon him. Sorry, I don’t mean to discuss such things you may find offensive, but it is my truth, and perhaps it’s time that it was told.37

Whenever I discover faded images of my younger self I can barely believe that I once looked that way, the varying hair styles and lengths, the clashing colours, the attempts to simply be different. Now I am mature enough (well maybe not) to be able to laugh at my ridiculous being, I always did take myself far too seriously for the good of it all. I had no idea whatsoever. And yet he did succumb in love with that serious blonde haired girl wrapped in arrogance and self-loathing who had huge dreams that have all too readily faded and fallen into oblivion, life tripped me up, let me drift then discarded me, cast me off to dwindle to what I am now. I’m not pathetic by any means, to others perhaps. But you know me. And perhaps I am.38

I suppose that’s why I listened so much to that voice who drove you to so much distraction. Every time I saw you and it was on in my car, you’d cry for me to turn it off. It sounded so raw, that shared pain, that shared self-analysis, that shared torture of the spirit. Yet I could so relate to what I was hearing, for the first time I felt connected. I know it was probably just for commercial reasons, but then I always easily convinced by a sad story from a press release. You were always far more cynical than me. You’d tell me off for my naivety. Snap at my blindness to reality, tell me to grow up and stop believing what I wanted to believe. 39

Someone once told me that we shouldn’t accept human redemption. They said that people couldn’t really change and we argued that point for hours. I’ve always tried to think that we can redeem ourselves, that inside most of us, him apart, there is that chance to improve and to relish redemption. If we couldn’t then what would be the point of humanity’s existence. I’m glad that I couldn’t and still don’t share that cynicism. I’ve heard stories of redemption that have raised my spirit and I know that humanity has a chance of hope. Just because I no longer want to continue as a part of it doesn’t mean I utterly detest it. I don’t. 40

You know there was someone I felt I could redeem once, but it’s too long ago now. I was too late, too cowardly and too conventional to help him as he deserved. All he wanted was a future, but I couldn’t even offer him that, so he took the same route that I choose now. He was just too fragile, his mind splintered, his body, well I could tell you more than you should know about that, but I won’t, except the fact that I came to know it intimately. Every hair, every change in pigment, every groove, every curve, the rise and fall of his features, and the frail bones barely concealed beneath the waxen surface of his paper tight skin. But I rejected this, my alternative, and he, well, he took his own walk, leaving me here to pay back what I owed, and how. I’ve never told him about this pathetic decision, perhaps if I had, then he’d have hastened what I chose to do myself. Who can say? Certainly not me.41

I no longer really hate anyone, my emotions are spent; I hate what he has done to me and that sad creature whose hair I have so long dreamt of hacking off with that rusty trusty blade. Yet when I finally saw her there no longer seemed a point to it all. She was just another woman, yes one I screamed obscenities at I don’t doubt, one I would cheerfully have strangled with her own hair like Porphyria, at the time. But maybe not now. I used to scrawl that crude ditty on empty sheets about her being a whore and stealing my boyfriend that’s for sure. Doggerel I know, but it made me slightly smile, straining words to rhyme. But she probably wasn’t that different from me, and at least she had the sense to walk away. He always screams that in my face.42

No, it is the so-called friend that I reserve my scorn for as he deliberately set out to destroy us. He doesn’t merit comparison with Iago and I’m loathe to include his reference within the same sentence, but he decided that other elements were to be included in our equation, and when things slipped off balance he laughed and slid along to the next one.43

I don’t even hate him any more, in spite of the kicks, the punches, the fractures, the scratches, the bruises, the blackened eyes, the yellowing fading scars. No, even though I know that I have removed him from this existence, I can no longer hate him. Perhaps I did provoke him because in my perverted determination not to let go I wrecked his soul. Who can say? No one will ever recognise the full extent of how we continued, because we choose not to share that with anyone else, not even those who will undoubtedly sift through us in their professional quest to know either of us. I hope that they can understand a little, maybe they’ll talk to you, I don’t know. Just be honest. I wasn’t that bad, all of the time was I?44

Well, when you read this it’ll all be over. Surely it won’t come as any major surprise to you? And to be honest I’ve prepared this in advance, apart from these last few paragraphs, I knew what I had to do. Please don’t just blame me, though I’m sure it will all be crystal one day, that final humiliation was too much. I hadn’t intended the sheer violence, my plan, in as much as there was some sort of forward thinking involved alcohol and painkillers, but not just for me. I wanted his end to be more peaceful, but he decided otherwise. He determined this outcome, it was his decision, his action that drove me on. They’ll probably tell you eventually about what he did, I choose not to, I’m sorry I don’t feel able to share it with you, but I don’t. Besides, I am no longer sure whether you’d accept just my word anymore. I’ll let the evidence scream out my truth, perhaps then you’ll believe me. Though to be honest I don’t care anymore.45

I don’t care about anything else anymore. 46

You may feel the need to contact someone about this, please feel free to do so, though you are not the only person I have mailed, far from it. I daresay someone will talk to you about this and our longstanding friendship as I suppose we can still describe it, be honest, tell them what you like, and rest assured I have certainly left behind enough of my own testimony for them. So tell them exactly what you like. Tell them your truth. As I’ve said I no longer care. You can depict me as a selfish self-serving self-centred monster, perhaps that is what I really am.47

Anyway, it’s time. Waves are caressing me at last. Reality is biting and it’s time.48

I’m sure you won’t shed tears for me when you read this. I still feel that, even though you may have judged me somewhat in the past, I’ve still valued our friendship for what it was worth and for that I thank you.49

Me.50

***51

I didn’t know how to react to this. I could empathise and sympathise with the recipient, I certainly wouldn’t have relished receiving that particular missive from anyone, especially from someone I had considered a close friend. It was fiercely brutal in its basic honesty, its open candour and huge sense of finality. She was saying goodbye, feeling that now was the time for a truth.52

But this wasn’t the only mail that she sent before the intoxicating waves of oblivion caressed her. No, one further remained, even more brutal, aggressive, harsh and honest. This one spared nothing, her opinion acute and searing, and the prospect of meeting its recipient did not fill me with delight or anticipation, but it was a confrontation both unavoidable and inevitable. Of course I would remain neutral, impartial, professional, that is what I do, isn’t it?53

***54

This is for…55

From -------------@ ---------------56

To -------------@ ------------------57

Subject: You being an arrogant ……58

Well, I’m sure you’ll delete this as you, even you, realise that it isn’t from him, but me. And do you think I really care what you do, you arrogant shit. Words are far too fine to describe the depth of loathing I feel for you, your contemptible actions and the consequences of your malignant meddling. Oh don’t worry, even if you decide to delete this immediately I have left several copies including a hard one for whoever to read this and I’m sure they’ll be anxious to discuss the matter of your friendship, although I can barely bring myself to use that term, so great is my detestation of you, as a being, a living (unfortunately perhaps) breathing entity.59

You see, there isn’t a future. You certainly contributed to the decline and ultimate destruction of us, of our fabric and why? That’s a question I have often mused over in the darkness when the ache prevents sleep and the bruises are too painful to lie on. Why did you decide to ruin us? Because you devoured a savour of power and relished the fact that you could? No, surely that would be gracing you with an intelligence, something that I very much doubt actually lurks in that thinly haired skull of yours. Was it because I didn’t fawn at your size tens or whatever, laugh sickeningly at your attempts at vulgar witticisms, or because you simply didn’t impress me? I don’t know. What I do recall from that initial meeting is that you were crass, unfunny and relatively charmless and made little attempt to even be civil to me. Were you jealous that he and were a much older and deeper, and dare I say it, happier combination sharing a full life. Whereas if I remember you flitted from pillow to pillow frequently, claiming that you were fussy, in fact you were just being shallow. Or were you just plain old jealous? Did you harbour unacknowledged feelings for him, and resented our obvious closeness, because, in spite of all your unpleasantness towards me, he really did love me. I know that now, but do note the past tense. He hasn’t loved me in an age and primarily that is your doing. If you’d left us to us we could have sorted it, we always did before you intervened with your slack knickered girl friends. You never really knew anything about the reality of us did you? We never shared that with anyone, it wouldn’t have been right, but it is done, deeply interred into our not forgotten past. No, you determined that I was crossing your path and so pathetic in your manly little ambition that no mere woman whose role in life could only be a) as a domestic drudge, as a bedroom acrobat/slut, c)as a mother or d)as the secondary wage earner would ever threaten. Because that’s what we are to you, isn’t it? A threat.60

You feel emasculated when you hear of our successes, when we stand up for ourselves and have the temerity to actually disagree with you, like I did. I wouldn’t be quiet and allow you to dominate a conversation would I? I’m afraid that’s not within the confines of my nature and isn’t my opinion as valid as the next, and I choose my words carefully here, man. We are not so different perhaps you and I. But you always felt I was a threat and the feeling was mutual – a shared loathing which could never be reconciled.61

I think you surpassed yourself that night of our infamous party and I’m sure you felt like the gods had handed you a gift when I ridiculously fell into that situation. It wasn’t just the alcohol, although of course I told him I was drunk and didn’t know what I was doing. I planned that. It had been brewing for a while over silly extended phone calls and even elicit visits. It wasn’t exactly the first time we’d done that either, but it was the first time I’d been caught by you. If I’d had my way we’d have wandered away from the party for some private ground and you know, I would have done absolutely anything that man wanted me to do. Ironic isn’t it? Do you know what that term even means? Or do I really have to explain it to your dense little macho brain? And why was I, who am so utterly resentful of your attempts to wreck our relationship, why was I perfectly willing to roll around with someone I barely knew within sight and hearing of the man I was supposed to love more than my own life. And my answer is simple – because I could. Because finding oneself the centre of another’s attraction is empowering and power is the biggest aphrodisiac there is. You know that, because you too have felt a degree of power over this shattered existence he and I have endured. We don’t live, we exist. I hope you feel pride at what your creation, it’s quite impressive this creature of hatred that you have carefully moulded and fashioned in your own image, little god.62

Oh I’m sure you told with such relish what you witnessed in the garden, and I’m sorry to say I wasn’t exactly discreet. But I knew it was you calling his mobile. What were you attempting? Save him from himself? Do you really imagine I’d eat him in public? Grant me a little more intelligence than that, I could have locked us both in the bathroom if I’d so desired, but I just wasn’t in the mood that night for secrecy. I’ll leave you to wonder whether I had on any other occasion; perhaps that man didn’t require any salvation having already fallen. But you’ll never know will you, and he certainly won’t tell you, much as you may think man share their sexual proclivities. I just know he won’t have anything to do with you, simply because he didn’t forgive you either; he wanted me so much that night, did you really imagine he was grateful for your intervention? Of course he wasn’t. He’d decided what he wanted from the second he saw me, I knew that. And you spoilt it all didn’t you?63

Did you really feel you were doing your friend a favour? And which friend could I be referring to. No, you took an immense delight in dragging him to the window to watch me didn’t you? I know you saw the tears spilling down his cheeks, he told me you said very little to him and he was mortified that you of all people caught him crying over me. You’d think he was soft wouldn’t you, perhaps unmanly. Or were your feelings deeper than that? Did you really desire to wrap your arms around him and whisper that it didn’t matter, that you, his friend, would always be there for him? That just wasn’t worth it; I was a slut, a tart, a slag, whatever, who didn’t deserve him, but you’d look after him wouldn’t you?64

He told me this a while or so later. But I didn’t tell him anything for a couple of weeks, although he did take a childish delight in winding me up and banging on about fidelity and morality. That’s a joke if ever I heard one. He said there was a moment of such intensity that simply terrified him just as you dialled that mobile number. I’m sure it cut when he forgave me, as I knew he would. All I ever had to do was cry, snake my arms about his neck and say sorry. Doesn’t work at all now of course, we barely touch, but I did mean it, at the time. I always mean what I say, which is why this is my truth and perhaps you will have read this far and realised that. Who can say?65

No, our ruination lay embedded in your future, and what prompted such retribution I will never know. You knew I’d be away, that my job occasionally demanded my absence and you carefully engineered everything didn’t you? I’m not saying he was totally innocent because he does have a brain and free will. How many times had he declined other similar offers is a question I no longer muse upon as there would be little point in attempting that action. And there really wasn’t anything amiss in our life at the time, he openly admits that he was utterly content and just didn’t think our life would change. Well, you certainly ensured that the damage became irreparable.66

Your damage not only destroyed us but another. You didn’t know that at the time did you? Did he ever tell you? I didn’t disclose it to anyone, so early were the stages, but there was no doubt, tests had all glowed positive and we had a future, until you intervened, again. I hope you’re pleased with your actions, not only did he feel the guilt of making a measure of commitment to that creature, I simply fail to dignify her existence at the moment but his, her, and your actions contributed to the demise of a human life. So, you know now. Thanks. Perhaps this will help to explain the utter contempt I feel for you. How would you feel if your life and that of the one you were carrying so secretly were so immediately dragged from your grasp in quite such a violent manner? Would you react as I did? But of course, you’re not a human woman; you can’t carry a child, no matter how briefly, can you. So you’ll never understand. I hope you sleep.67

Even when I finally snapped the news at him he didn’t really care that much, so great was the desire you’d spread in him to be free. Yes, of course he cried, who wouldn’t. Yes, he even comforted me for a short while, but only superficially, it was just too late. There wouldn’t be any return to our area of contentment now, you carefully orchestrated that one, didn’t you, with your regular Friday evenings out in the city, inviting him to stay with you, alleviating the need for a taxi, or, heaven forbid, I pick him up. That just wouldn’t do, would it? No, that would diminish whatever tenuous hold you worked so very hard to erect over him, the little woman spoiling your boys’ night out or in. anything in your pathetic grasp of power to eradicate my connection. Even inviting him on your oh so manly adventure holidays which in all reality we, note the plural, couldn’t afford. We had a mortgage and a joint bank account. Bet you didn’t know that either, did you? Or the fact that we were legally bound and not just co-habitees, for want of a better term. Oh yes, it was all official, if very low key, an awfully long time. Just because I retained my own name, neither of us sported a band, and I refused to adopt any title that might mark me out as someone’s property. None of that meant that our relationship was legally recognisable. I doubt if he informed any of his colleagues, I didn’t bother to tell mine, there wasn’t any particular reason, but really, whose business was it exactly?68

Would that have altered your conception of me in any way? Probably not. Plenty of others in similar relationships fall away and end up locked in court, at least we won’t. Neither of us will remain to face that indignity. As you may have perceived, even you, is that particular missive is my closure. Our closure. Because he is no more, and soon I will cease to be. Which is why I feel totally free to tell you exactly how I feel about you.69

I won’t waste my remaining emotion to deploy the abstract noun of hatred against you, I really cannot be bothered to feel that strongly or to expend that amount of energy upon your worthless half soul. For you are no fully rounded human at all. I simply despise you for your petty narrow-minded self-serving attitude. You set out to destroy our happiness because you failed to attain any measure of achievement in your soulless couplings and, as I’ve already noted, you wanted what you couldn’t have, and that certainly wasn’t me. But of course, you’re far too manly and macho to face up to your reality. He had his suspicions but laughingly persuaded himself that it was pure imagination and spite on my part. But I’m not wrong. I never was. Perhaps that explains your antipathy towards me, which veered on actual hatred didn’t it? You wanted me eradicated didn’t you in order to take my place, and when you found a willing dupe to distract him away, you thought you could collude didn’t you? What you didn’t count on was my sheer stubbornness and refusal to yield, to give up everything I had built, or for the fact that the stupid fool believed he wanted out from me. Not from our home, oh no. How many times have I heard him scream at me to leave our house, home no more. He chose this house, I didn’t and it’s something he would not give up. Well, he hasn’t. He’s still here, virtually asleep and peaceful, you can’t harm either of us now, with your malice, can you? We’re both free.70

And what of your pathetic little friend? I notice that she didn’t exactly put up a fight when it came to pass now did she? Simply pulled off in our car after we ‘met’. Bit pathetic that really, don’t you think? I heard she smacked him though, the next morning when he crawled along to collect that precious car. I laughed silently when I heard. But what was your reaction I wonder? The Friday nights started to increase then, making a greater attempt were you? He could never fully throw the habit of me of you know. His final act tonight was physical which is why what has so recently occurred between us happened. Which is why he lies as if asleep and I will soon join him.71

Don’t try, don’t attempt any last minute heroics. I’ve sent this on to you after doing what I need to do. Of course much of it was already prepared. I’ve known what I’ve wanted to say to you for such a very long time because I blame you far more than that pathetic slut you introduced him to, with her rounded vowels and neatly combed hair. Everything in place, how very unlike me. A tidily feminine personage, moderate in absolutely everything, not me. Which is why I feel he fell so stupidly as I am too much. You saw that and despised me for it, because you never attempted to know us at all. Of course we could never have been friends, but maybe tolerance could have existed, but no, you determined rudeness from our initial encounter and disliked the fact that I stood up to you. I’m sorry, but you weren’t funny at all. And I never could work out exactly who you thought you were so we should laugh at every individual crass comment. Who were you? Who are you?72

Final thoughts before I send, hit the button and commit all of this to cyber space, should be regarding conscience. Have you ever seen that Disney film of Pinocchio? Probably not. A tiny character wears a top hat in that film, he’s called Jiminy Cricket and he’s the puppet’s conscience who tells the boy of wood whenever he has committed a bad deed; usually he administers some sort of admonishment. If I’d created that character it wouldn’t just have been Pinocchio’s nose growing with the lies he persists in telling. Oh no. I’d have made Jiminy’s size increase with all of the sins enjoyed. Just imagine. You’re Pinocchio and your conscience swells with every misdemeanour. What burden would you bear upon your back? Certainly more than the proverbial albatross I should imagine and that would only be for those evil thoughts and acts directed towards me wouldn’t it?73

This huge, deformed malignity should squat upon your soul preventing you from resting, invading your dreams, organising your nightmares, scrambling and unsettling your attempts at rational thought. This is really what I wish upon you. I’ve known the terrors of the dark when my pain slices through my sensibilities and I just crave the drug of affection, the uxor of tenderness, the addiction of emotion, but I’m denied, bereft, and must lie alone with my tears for company. He hates me when I cry even more than anything, yet I cannot control those stupid, pathetic, futile tears. Of all things I cannot control, I have no control over myself.74

An ending. 75

I wish you no luxury of sleep. I wish you the realisation of what you have created and formed, it is a cancer of jealousy and evil malignity. We are both monsters.76

This is my truth. Just rest in the knowledge of what you have done. I hope you have an extremely over-long life; you deserve the time to consider exactly what you have done.77

Oh, one final thought. Just to make you feel better about me, just to make you realise that yes, you were right about me in the end. He has probably blurted out to you that I was so very tempted, and I don’t mean that stupid incident in the garden which you thought yourself so noble in despoiling, no, this was reality. Well I yielded to that temptation, so many, many times, and relished every single moment of that dirty, sweaty coupling. The guilt I suffer now is not from the fact that I have done what I have done, but because I was too cowardly, too avaricious and pathetically conformist to not give it away to someone I really should have saved. Someone who offered me life, but I threw it back and I have paid for that in every second of my waking moments. That is my real guilt. 78

Call me a hypocrite if you like, do you really think I am going to care one iota about your crass little opinion? 79

I was loved, really loved, but I hate you.80

Peace, or whatever.81

**82

In three days’ time I would encounter the man who had inadvertently sat at his workstation, innocently switched on his pc, logged onto his broadband connection to hear that breathy female voice whisper seductively to him that he had email, and, as we do every single day of our lives, open up our files just to feel that someone out there cares about us enough to send us a missive no matter how trivial. But this email hadn’t been from his work colleague, one he occasionally regarded as a friend but from her, the one woman whom he detested and who loathed him above all others. What was her problem he frequently wondered? Why did she hate him so very very much? Because he had tried to provide his friend with a positive future, what was so wrong with that? 83

Again she’d intimated of a dirty, her word, not mine, liaison, but with who? More knots for me to untangle and disseminate; lives are rarely simple and unsullied in spite of the apparently conventional facades we carefully construct for public consumption. I needed to know, to discover, to analyse and know her, if only to help me sleep at nights, that’s all I desire. Just like Macbeth craving the soothing balm of sleep. No images of dead kings and bloody hands for me, just those piercing green eyes and the whispered husky imperative of Help me…84