I hate Miss B.
Not the ‘mild dislike expressed strongly’ kind of hate, but actual, genuine ‘can feel the primitive rage coursing through my veins and about to explode’ kind of hate.
She has wrecked everything.
And so quickly, too! In a matter of weeks, she’s come between us, irretrievably altering and ruining what we had. My darling is lost to me.
Let me begin properly.
It was love at first sight.
I know many don’t believe in it, and truthfully, although I’d dallied with love, it had never really happened for me until that moment. Our eyes locked and there was an immediate connection. I was utterly dazzled and completely taken by surprise.
We got to know one another slowly, tentatively, but always aware that there was a deep undercurrent of incredibly strong feeling, and after a while, could not help but admit that we’d fallen in love.
Once admitted, life was easy; full of sunshine and birds singing as we spent each day together, sharing the quiet, still moments along with the crazy, giddy ones. We grew together and it was just *right*. I didn’t care how wrong anyone said it was. I flaunted it brazenly, making a show of being with her (to some people’s disapproval) and loving when we got approving looks from strangers, delighted by the evidence of just how much we loved one another – the public displays of affection – the cooing at one another in the shops – the glorious closeness of just holding one another, out there for the world to see.
Each day brought new happiness and new levels of beauty to our relationship. She was such an excitable person, always keen to be with me, to hear what I have to say, grabbing me as the fancy took her. I delighted in her attention and blossomed under the spotlight of her affections.
Even angry, I still found her attractive and would laugh lightly as her face gathered storm clouds, often causing the situation to worsen. If I’d upset her though, and couldn’t meet her eye, she’d sometimes jerk my face round to her and force eye contact upon me. I felt the strength of her character then, forsure, but making up afterwards was always so good…
But just a few weeks ago, happenstance dictated that we met this…this WOMAN. This ‘Miss B’ – this vile, slimy character who wormed her way in with her flippy blonde hair and smiling eyes. Her voice poised ‘just so’ to incite interest; long syllables left hanging, desiring a response. And I sat sourly and looked on as this shocking new reality played out before me, knowing I was losing her, yet feeling utterly powerless to stop the seemingly inevitable transfer of her affections, and I began to die inside.
I tried so hard, too. I took her out for meals. I created day trips where we could spend time together again, just us, like we used to. I was extra nice to her, but I could see it all falling flat. The novelty of me had worn off, and the spectre of Miss B hung between us, dripping poisoned allure.
What makes it even worse (and which really sticks in my craw) is that it’s *my* fault they met. I engineered it, unintentionally, naively, without knowing the implications of what I had done. Hoist, hung, drawn and painfully quartered by my very own petard.
Today was the final straw.
With no warning, she left me. Just walked away and magically, Miss B was there (as though they’d pre-arranged it, just to give me that extra slap in the face as my reality crashed and burned before my eyes). Miss B, the audacious, scheming bitch, put out her hand and she TOOK IT! Such pain knifed through me as I’ve never felt before.
I just had to get out of there. I didn’t even say goodbye.
I left her there with Miss B, not even stopping to tell her that I’d wait til the end of time if she’d come back to me.
Stood in front the slammed door, ignoring the sudden outburst of shock behind it, nearly hyperventilating with the enormity of what had happened.
And now I’m in my car, ignoring the insistent ringing of my cell, tears of jealous rage and so much hurt coursing down my face. People walking past are trying not to look at me – a madwoman in a car, screaming Miss B’s name as a curseword, pounding the steering wheel in my grief.
And I hate it, but can’t help reviewing in my mind, like a magical slideshow gone renegade, running faster and faster between images before beginning to burn, all those precious moments I had with her:
Gazing into each other’s eyes and without a word, our hearts speaking how much we loved one another
Holding one another tight, feeling the warmth and closeness of her perfection
Watching her slyly from under lowered lids as she busied herself, just drinking her in
Her face lighting up when she saw me return after I’d been out for a while
Shared moments watching sunrises, sunsets, or getting suddenly caught in the rain and running together, giggling and whooping, for cover
The moment she first said ‘I love you’ and meant it
Her soft, skin, silken hair and dazzling eyes
I cry out unintentionally; an ugly keening as my soul breaks into a thousand pieces.
Miss B, all this is your doing, and I don’t know how I’ll ever recover.
Life will not be smooth from now, and I have a sense of impending doom that the time we shared has been forever tarnished, stripped from me and held up as something of a sham.
It’s my daughter’s first day at pre-school, and I’m late for work because I can’t stop missing her.
But she’s not missing me.