Homewrecker

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

Her laughter

Her kisses

Her heart

My love.

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.

 This was a ‘Making You Feel‘ post

Gonna give this one a trial-run over at the I Don’t Like Mondays hop – see what they think!

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32 thoughts on “Homewrecker

  1. Thank you!

    Nice when you haven't to make them dislike you by being the one handing out the loss of privileges and making them eat their tea…different ball-game entirely I suspect.

    Sounds like you had some great kids around you as Miss B.

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  2. Great piece, love it…you have a knack for sure! I have been both Miss B and the jilted mommy…for me, Miss B was easier! Everyone listened, helped clean up, told me I was beautiful and at the end of the week, I got a check!

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  3. 😉 I'm glad the twist works – not a mechanic I've tried so flagrantly before – the last one was rather subtle.

    A shame about Lily's teacher, but glad Violet's is nice.

    When I was a pre-school teacher, I was nice, but not Homewrecker nice XD

    Thanks for the wonderful feedback, that's very kind of you to say so.

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  4. Ahhhhh.. SO did not see the twist at the end coming. It somehow was different for us sending the kids to kindergarten the first time. They were so excited and couldn't wait to get there. I love Violet's teachers, but we're not keen on Lily's teacher, can't wait to be rid of them 😉

    Anyways, I love your writing, it's so touching, and definitely speaks from deep down. Love it!!

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  5. Awesome feedback Girlie, thank you (I'm your first? Wicked :D)

    I got much the same response from Husby (after running commentary about what it *might* have been as he read it… XD

    The development of the rogerian aspect is *precisely* why I formed my own writing challenge in this way. It's what I'm trying to do, alongside stretching my creative muscles.

    I'm glad it's working, but…I need to learn to 'own' it. It's all very well to 'be emotional' in fiction. Meaning it…that still terrifies me.

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  6. AHA! You sly, devil in a blue dress! LOL Lovely surprise ending!
    OK, for all your talk about developing your rogerian aspect? Know this: it is certainly there in your writing. Finally decided that was it…..I can stay reading your words until the end (they are never too long) because your writing carries me along effortlessly.
    Yours is the first blog I've been to this morning. Thanks =D

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  7. if only it went that way for us. I don't know if it had it probably would have been just like the character in the story. Instead we had an entire year of screaming all the way to preschool …once I dropped him off and walked out and looked back in the window he was fine. But what an ordeal. Rip your heart out every morning. And by the afternoon he didn't want to leave.

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