Something like love

A short story about a woman stuck in a bad relationship.

He came home drunk again. He thinks we don’t know, we can’t tell when he’s been hitting the bottle. But it’s so obvious. You can see it in the way he walks, all staggered, bumbling steps. He slurs his words so badly that I swear sometimes it seems like I’m talking to Sylvester. You know, the cat from the Looney Toons, always chasing Tweety? Yeah, him, always slurring and spitting his words out. Just like that. And he thinks we can’t tell! My brother picked him up from work, (he was busted for drunk driving eight months ago, lost his license and his the first of three jobs so my brother is his ride) and he told me that Mal had a hard time getting his suitcase and tools in the van, he was so wasted he kept almost falling. Then they stopped at the bank so Mal could get some money out, only the ATM was inside the bank and you have to use a bankcard to get in the doors. Well, according to my brother, he couldn’t get it to work. He kept trying it and trying, swiping and re-swiping but the doors wouldn’t open, so Mal, the genius he is, decides that he’s going to force the doors open by throwing himself against them! This moron was trying to break into the bank! My brother said he rolled down his window and yelled at him to stop it! My god! I mean, what a fool, right?

Oh! And then it gets worse! Mal asked my brother to take him to Cumbies because they have an ATM, so my brother said yes and they stopped there. Mal went inside and came quickly back out, which was good, only problem was that he couldn’t find the van! There were two other vans parked next to my brother’s and he couldn’t figure out which van was which! Isn’t that ridiculous!

And if you ask him about it, you know what he’ll say? Oh I’ll tell you exactly what he’ll say, he’ll look at you all hurt and confused and then say “Drinking? I haven’t touched a drop! You know that! A guy can’t be in a good mood once in a while without being accused of drinking! I break my back around here! And all I get in return is accusations!” that’s what he’ll say. He always does. And then we’ll drop it and for a few weeks, things are okay, not good, but okay. Then an opportunity arises and he takes it. We fight again, he swears it’s the last time, he’ll make good, everything will be better, just have a faith in him, that’s all. Faith may be able to move mountains, but it can’t keep a drunk from drinking. Faith, he says.

Faith in what? In the fact that we’re two months behind in our rent? Is that what I’m supposed to have faith in? If wasn’t that we have the sweetest landlord in the world, we would’ve been kicked out of here long ago, (well, that and the fact that I have cancer, breast cancer to be precise, so I’m considered disabled which means they can’t throw me out right now, so I have that going for me), I mean hell! He can’t even pay the damn electric bill on time! He’s constantly going on about how he has to go pay it right now or they’re going to shut us off. Tell me, how can a grown man, nearly sixty years old mind you, how can he not be able to pay a bill on time? Let me clarify, he is on a payment plan that is around the same amount, due at the same time every month. Yet every time it comes due, he’s scrambling to get the money and get there to pay it! I really don’t know what I’m still doing with this man. I wonder sometimes……

I guess, maybe somewhere deep down inside, I still love him. I don’t know why, but I do. I must, otherwise I would’ve left him. He’s not very lovable, I’ll tell you that! Sometimes he is such a little….b***h. That’s only word I can think of to describe him. Isn’t that sad? That’s the best thing I can say for him. Hmm…..

Anyways, he’s just an a*s. Get this, he steals my pain pills. He steals them! I’m a goddamn cancer patient, I need my pills! Yet he takes them! And again, he thinks I don’t know. The other day, some of my daughter’s pills came up missing. Her anti-depression medication. Five of them. Just gone. So now I have to keep her pills for her. This is my life.

My family hates him. Especially my brother. He wants to kill him, but mom and I made him promise that he wouldn’t do anything unless he had to. You know, if Mal got physically abusive, which he hasn’t, not really, not yet….thankfully. Because my brother would kill him. Everybody knows it. Even Mal’s afraid of him.

Did I mention the fact that my mom and my brother moved in with us to help me get through this cancer? Yeah, they’ve been great. I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without them. Mal has been no help at all. He wouldn’t go to the hospital with me, he won’t go to doctor’s appointments or chemo with me, and the worst part? He almost let me die. I mean it, he literally almost let me die.

This was during the hardest treatment time, with the three chemo drugs at one time. It’s awful, in case you were curious. A day or two after one of the treatments, it was late and we were both trying to sleep, but I couldn’t. Something didn’t feel right. Something felt wrong with me. I couldn’t catch my breath, and my heart beat didn’t feel right. I called out to him to wake him up. No answer. Three times I called out his name, then finally he opened his eyes and asked what was wrong. I told him to call an ambulance because I didn’t feel right, something was wrong. He looked at me and said, “Go back to sleep. You’re just having a panic attack. Don’t worry about it. Calm down and go to sleep. Goodnight.” And he rolled over and went back to sleep. I didn’t know what to do! I just laid there, dumbfounded, bewildered by his response. Yes, I have been prone to panic attacks in the past, but this was not like those in any way! It took a few minutes for me to clear my head enough to know what to do. Somehow I managed to find the phone and call 911.

They came quickly, within ten minutes they were here. They scooped me up and shuttled to the hospital where I proceeded to flat line. I died three times that night. That night when nothing was wrong with me, the night that it was all in my head.

He stayed home and slept. I told him the next day over the phone that I had died last night. There was an awkward silence for several moments, then he said “But you’re okay now, right?” and changed the subject before I could even answer. Some guy huh?

I should let my brother kill him. I really should. If only for the things he’s put my kids through. Unfortunately, they were young when we got together. It was twelve years ago after all, we were young, well, younger.

My two oldest boys, (I have four children all together. Three boys and a girl.) anyways, they looked up to him. In a way, he was a father figure to them. At first it was great! We only saw each other for a weekend or two every month so I didn’t know how bad his drinking was. Anybody can get along for a couple of days out the month. Besides, he always had lots of money, bought me and the kid’s lots of stuff. And yeah, I’m not going to lie, we drank together, but he was good then. It wasn’t until we moved in together that I got see his ugly side. Slowly he become more vicious, crueler. Then one night it happened. He grabbed me and pinned me against the wall. He was out of his mind drunk and making no sense at all. His eyes rolled around wildly as he tried to focus on me. After a few frightening minutes something came over him. It was as if someone had turned on the lights in a dark room. You could see his mind come back. A strange, almost scared look crossed his face as he came to and saw what he was doing. He let me go and stumbled over to the bed and flopped onto it. That was the first time.

He’s never hit me, but he’s come close. Sometimes I can see it in his blood shot eyes, I know he wants to. But there are worse things than physical abuse. There’s emotional abuse. Words can do more damage than any weapon. They cut deeper than knives, they leave scars worse than gunshots. And sometimes, they never heal…. 

That’s what he’s best at. He knows just what to say to bring me down and just how to say it. He mastered those techniques long ago. He can floor me with a word….

Oh, could I tell you some stories about him! Like the time he promised to take my boys camping. That’s a good one! So, we lived on an island, Nantucket Island. It’s beautiful and wonderful and hard and sad and just weird. Well, he told the boys that he would take them off island to this special spot he always camped at. They were thrilled! Hell! They were beyond thrilled! Their blood father lived on the island too, while he did spend time with them, he never did the manly stuff that most teen or pre-teens boys want to do. So they took the 2 ½ hour boat trip to the mainland. While on the boat, he drank several drinks so by the time they unloaded he was well on his way. They drove for a short time when he decided to pull over for a minute and ask directions at this liquor store. Ten minutes later he came out carrying a bottle in a paper bag. He drank it the whole drive to the camp site.

After a terrifying drive, they stopped. He was too drunk to do anything. He couldn’t put the tent up or start a fire or anything. He just passed out in the driver’s seat. I was so mad when they told me! I told him we were through! No more! And I meant it this time!

Then the morning came and I had to face the fact that I’m a single mother with children still at home who hasn’t worked at any job other than being a full-time mother in twenty some years. That’s when the fear kicked in. The fear of being homeless, the fear that I can’t make it on my own. I don’t have an education! I don’t have a work history! Who would hire someone like me! And next thing you know, we’re back together. We’re going to give it one more try. Maybe I love him….. But I don’t think so…….

Fear is a terrible thing. But feeling trapped is even worse. He doesn’t help. When I tell him I want to go back to school, he feels threatened, like I won’t need him anymore. I guess maybe that is true. I won’t need him, but let’s face it, we haven’t been a couple in long time. All he does is pay the rent, and that’s it. Now he can’t even do that. My brother is pushing me to kick him out but I can’t. What the hell is wrong with me? I feel guilty, why do I feel guilty? He has been nothing but a liar since the day I met him. When I first met him I asked him if he had his own place. He said “yes” and was I like “great!” a few weeks later we went to his house on the cape. The house was big and beautiful, just like he said it was. There were five bedrooms and three and a half baths, only thing was it wasn’t his house. He rented the basement. I guess I should’ve known then what he was all about.

Love isn’t only blind, apparently it’s deaf and dumb too…