Remorse

Have you ever thought about why we do what we do?

Have you?!

I’m not talking about why we go shopping, or why we pick our nose or wear the same socks for two days in a row. I’m talking about relationships. Why do we need to be surrounded by other people? Sure, you’ll tell me that there are people that there are those that seclude themselves, keep to themselves, live with themselves, talk with themselves. Imaginary people are still people. How many of those are actually content with the lives they live, how many of those actually choose to be this way and aren’t forced by powers beyond their control. What powers? Fear. Hate. Self pity.

Let’s not call them relationships, let’s call it networking. Sounds more manageable now, doesn’t it? Isn’t networking the most fun of skills to have? Just think about it for a second. That hot coworker that you always see around the water fountain, you’re not interested because they’re hot and the idea of them giving you the time of day wouldn’t validate that deep, dark need of approval that you yearn for with all your might. No! It’s networking. Who knows what skills they have that could benefit you in so many ways. I can surely think of some! Catch my drift?

But the hot coworker is too much of a cliche, let’s pick Jim or Judy. Jim comes from a poor family, has two brothers and didn’t get good grades in school. He ended up working at a gas station and marrying Suzy, who doesn’t know the difference between “than” and “then”. Judy, well, Judy’s fat. Just think about it for a second. Judy is… fat. And yet, there’s a Jim and a Judy in all our lives. Sure, we don’t talk to them, we haven’t talked to them in ten years, we wouldn’t want to talk to them anyway, what could we possibly talk to them about. If we were to meet them in a store, we would though, we’re friends on Instamug or Vanitybook. What skills do they have for our precious little network?

Well, they’re perfect, aren’t they?! Perfect just the way they are.

Everyone’s complaining that in today’s society, we can no longer have deep, meaningful relationships. Maybe it’s not the society that’s broken. Maybe it’s us.

The evening shower had brought a bit of coolness to the air, and Susan was grateful for it. It had been a long day, warm and sticky, and the air in the room was still thick with the afterglow of anxiety and doubt.

She went to the window and twisted the handle upward. The window tilted inward with the swooshing sound and air glided in through the slit at the top. Susan took a deep breath to cool herself.

Her head had begun to throb awhile back and beads of sweat were coalescing on her neck and forehead. She closed her eyes and welcomed the cool air, allowing herself a moment in it.

The phone screen flickered on for a second, and she saw the reflection in the window. She let out a sigh and turned around to pick it up.

His messages read:

“I’m sorry about everything that’s happened.

I regret what I did, because now I see where it has led us…

I’m sorry! Forgive me!”

The statement: “Mark is typing…” appeared in the bottom left corner of the screen and hung there for a couple of seconds, then disappeared.

Susan waited for the message to come, but it never did.

What did he want to say?

As if it mattered. The damage had been done and the aftermath of their argument lay buried in her heaving chest and the spike of cortisol and adrenaline in her body. She wanted to punch him so badly right now.

“I regret what I did, because now I see where it has led us…”

She read it again, and a flash of anger surged behind her eye-sockets. She felt her eyes shake under the excess blood flow and she clenched her jaw in response.

You regret it only because it has led us to this… you fucking motherfucker… you fucking fucking asshole.

‘Aaaaaaah!’ no longer able to contain it, she started pacing around the room, phone in hand.

“I regret what I did, because now I see where it has led us…”

‘You stupid motherfucker!’

So… we have Susan on one hand who’s really pissed off at Mark for reasons unknown. The problem here being that those reasons were mainly unknown to Susan.

What?! But how can this be! A woman in the depths of anger, ready to go on a rampage and yet a mystery. This is something that the world has never seen before. Right?!

On the other hand, we have Mark… who’s a man. And the sad part is, you’re satisfied with just that explanation. The sadder part… so am I.

The cool air was coming in droves by now, but Susan no longer felt it due to her elevated heart level. She paced around for a while until the excess energy burnt out, then she sat on the corner of her couch slouching forward, head held tightly between her palms.

She sighed.

Why does it have to be so complicated? Why can’t we just be together… like two normal human beings.

Right?! Are you getting this? Remember any of your normal relationships? Huh?! Do you? Yeah, that’s why you shouldn’t watch shitty movies or read shitty books.

The pain in her temple subsided as the memories took hold of her.

“I regret what I did, because now I see where it has led us…”

They had met two days before, after not seeing each other for more than a month. Both having been out of the city on business. They’d been arguing for the past three-four days because of the pain and frustration brought on by the separation. It was six in the evening and the cafe they had chosen was remote. It seldom had over three people at a time, including the bartender.

Susan arrived first and went to the room farthest in the back after ordering a pot of tea and water. She took them there herself. Mark came and the moment they saw each other, they embraced and lashed out to see if this wasn’t just a dream.

Susan was wearing a light dress and Mark’s hand sought out the flesh hidden beneath.

‘No, please!’ she said.

‘I won’t. I need to feel you,’ he replied.

He picked her up and dropped heavily midst the pillows scattered around, pulling her close. She kissed him intently before pulling away from him.

‘No, the bartender might come.’

‘Please, I’ve missed you so much. I want to feel the warmth of your skin.’

He unbuttoned the front of her dress and let her breasts hang heavily against his cheek as he squeezed her tight. Mark cupped one of them and pulled the other in his mouth with his lips.

‘Ah, please, stop it.’ she whispered.

‘I will.’

‘I don’t want to do this.’

‘We won’t.’

Still holding her nipple in his teeth, he grabbed her by her thighs and pushed her pelvis into his, clasping her generous rear.

‘Please!’ she said.

‘Ask me nicely,’ he replied.

‘No, I don’t want to.’

‘Ask me nicely.’

‘No.’

He held her tight and felt his bulge grind against her slick desire. As it happened, she let out a whimper, and he pulled his pants down.

Seeing his lust, she reached down and pulled her panties aside and took him in. They kissed.

It didn’t last long, and it didn’t matter. Her need had been that of space, not time, and at the end she just sat there holding on to that feeling of completeness. She sat next to him and took a sip of tea.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he told her.

She could feel tears filling up her eyes. This isn’t how she had imagined this would go.

He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said.

The pain of his absence was returning and her body felt weak under his gaze.

‘Don’t be sad.’

‘I’m not sad because of what happened.’

Susan shook herself out of the reverie before the warmth could spread. She picked up the phone and typed:

“I hate it when you wallow in self-pity like this.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Good night!”

She waited a bit and then sent an emoji hug.

The night was cool and sleep came as on the wings of a mosquito. It fluttered around her head for a bit, under waves of anguish and bitter sweat remorse. It left and fluttered back again. She waved it away once more. And then it bit.

The second Susan woke up, she opened the messaging app. A “Good night” and a hug emoji stared back at her, grinning. She sighed; her chest puffed up and a trickle of air flowed out of her mouth in a steady, unrelenting wave. Confusion came once more and bit into her heart.

“Good morning!” she typed.

I can’t believe I’m so stupid. I’m going to let him get away with it once more, aren’t I?! Why do I do it?! Why can’t I love somebody else?!

The business in her head rose to an apocalyptic note as thoughts came rushing left and right. She jumped out of bed and busied herself as best she could, her heart never leaving the phone screen.

“Good morning!” came the reply.

Fuck! Why did I write to him again?

She paused and waited.

She threw down her phone and picked it up again.

Fuck! I should’ve waited for him to write first.

“How are you?” she wrote.

“Fine. And you?”

She pulled her feet under her on the couch and squared her shoulders.

“Was checking something on the internet.”

“Cool. At what?”

Fuck! I shouldn’t have written anything.

“At types of clothes, I read about kibbe body types and how most women these days dress contrary to their bodies.”

“That sounds nice.”

OK! This isn’t so bad. Maybe we can still salvage something out of this.

“Yeah, most women dress in clothes designed for models, but it’s wrong.”

“Shouldn’t they dress however they feel comfortable? I mean, does it need to be a specific body type, otherwise you’re not allowed to dress like that?”

Here we go again! Why did you have to write back to him? He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t learn.

A rush of blood enveloped her breasts and cheeks and red blots started pouring out of her; mimicking the turmoil inside.

“It sounds kind of fascist to me, honestly,” he wrote.

That’s it!

Pressing her eyeballs, she let her head stoop backwards. What was this pain she felt? Why did she feel it so? All her life, this feeling had plagued her, this feeling of loneliness, of emptiness, of sorrow.

When will I learn?

“You know what?” she typed back. “I think we rushed back into this again. I’m not ready to start this all over again. We should hear from each other after a couple of days. Let’s see where we can pick things up.”

And then:

“Secondly, it’s not the fact that it happened that hurt so bad. It was what you told me afterwards. That you felt loved in it, completely the opposite of what I felt. And that’s not even the worst of it. It’s the fact that I know that it will happen again and again.”

She allowed herself to breathe before pressing send. She braced herself.

“I understand.”

Motherfucker! and threw her phone at the other end of the couch. It landed face up, and the screen flickered twice more.

“Deja Vu.

Goodbye.”

She no longer cared for it, she no longer thought of it. She had felt it all, and she had loved and hated it in equal measure.

Days came and days passed. It was hot; it was cold; it was light; it was dark.

It was Friday evening, and the message had said: “Hi, are you here?” Monday morning. It was Friday evening, and she’d been missing him since Monday morning. This pain she’d felt before. Why had she forgotten about this pain?!

Why indeed.

There’s a story about a mason that walled up his wife so he could fill out a gap in his heart. You can’t fill up gaps in your heart using other people.

Peace.