To the End




As I sat on the bed wondering where he must have disappeared to, I had time to look around the room and take in a few things. The bed wasn’t so big but it could take two people comfortably…just the perfect size for two lovers, or so I thought since that was my preference. That made me wonder if he still thought of me or remembered what I liked or even held unto what we once shared.

There was a book on the bed too together with some other things; a few magazines lay on the floor, some of them probably Vogue but I didn’t check. Clothes were strewn everywhere, typical of him. But I didn’t mind; I was just waiting for him to come back and make good my surprise. He wasn’t always the one for arranging and keeping things in order but that never bothered me since we were so in love.

Not like it mattered now, but when things turned sour, everything became irritating, and I started nagging and throwing tantrums. It was my demons probably, or so he called my fits but I couldn’t help my situation. I was going down fast but medications weren’t working. I was constantly depressed and he was so helpless as he tried for long to put up with me but I only got worse. I started becoming violent, and his life became at risk whenever he was around me.

I  had to be taken away to a rehabilitation center; I wasn’t mad but I always wondered how he would feel when being referred to as the husband of a ‘mad lady’, as anyone who went to rehabilitation was instantly seen as a mad person. I stayed there for so long while he tried so hard to keep up with bills and all. He frequently visited, but at some point, the visits started reducing. I noticed but couldn’t say anything. I only wondered what might have caused it. Then with time, he stopped coming altogether.

I only received notes asking after my health, but he always paid my bills and made sure I was taken care of. But that wasn’t what I wanted... I wanted him and him alone; I wanted things to go back to normal, but it was far from happening. Then slowly, I had to make peace with the fact that he had probably moved on, and found love elsewhere. He really deserved to be loved, so I wished that he got that at least.

I was in the asylum for so long… from weeks to months to years—I even stopped counting. The notes even stopped coming, but by then, I wasn’t really bothered. I was only trying to live as best as I could in the institution. I made some friends too, and gradually I  started healing. The more I talked about my life to people, the more the weight was lifted. At first, I  tried to exclude him from my stories, but being my first and only love, it wasn’t that easy. My listeners were also very eager to hear that part of my life, so I wasn’t left with much options.

I told my story every day, but by bits; every single detail was told, and nothing was left out—from how we met in high school till how the notes stopped coming, and by the time my story was coming to an end, it was as if all those feelings came rushing back. I  wanted so badly to see him; at least know how he felt about me now, or if I had been deleted from his life. I figured it wouldn’t hurt if found out the truth, so I made some effort in reaching him.

Over the years, I had become friends with the lady that delivered the notes to me, so I  had to ask her if she had any idea about the address of the sender since I only received the notes unaddressed. She was of great help and I told her of my plan to visit him. She felt it would help my healing process and encouraged me to go. Being a hopeless romantic, she felt there was still love lurking somewhere, and insisted I do not pass up on the opportunity.

So earlier that morning, I left the centre and took a cab the airport to catch my flight which the friendly lady had helped me book days before. During my short flight from Newark to Melbourne, I was so excited and couldn’t wait to land. It was like being in love all over again—just like high school. I just couldn’t keep it in. When I arrived, I took a cab to the address I was given. The driver was just a good natured fellow, and we chatted while he drove me home. Calling it home was a bit weird but I was too excited to entertain negative thoughts.

We arrived thirty minutes later, and I saw myself in front of a Victorian style country home. The porch was just modestly designed and homely. He was never given to much extravagance, so it wasn’t surprising. I knocked tentatively, but there was no response. After a few more knocks, I decided to sit out and wait, but as I stepped away from the door I noticed it was open so I entered the house. The sitting room was arranged just like it was when we’re still together just that it was a different house. It was easy locating his room since the house wasn’t that big. I  entered, sat on the bed and continued my wait. After about forty minutes, I was getting impatient so I decided to pick up the one of magazines on the floor, and immediately I picked it up, something fell from it onto the floor. I retrieved it, and opened it, and discovered that it was a note just like the ones I used to receive. I quickly read it, and there was all the answers I had sought for years.

It was a note to me but with so much love that I didn’t expect to still exist, at least not between us, but has had secretly hoped that it would. Lost in thoughts with the note still in hand, the door opened and he walked in, but not just him. A lady was with him. I was so lost in thoughts that I didn’t hear the laughter or their approaching footsteps before the door opened.

When he saw me, his laughter froze on his lips for few seconds while I struggled to wrap my mind around what was going on. It was then that I looked closely at the magazine and saw that the lady on the cover bore a striking resemblance to the lady with him. In fact, they were the same person. Except now she wasn’t wearing make up. I hurriedly took the magazine and held it so tightly that my knuckles turned white while I pointed to her. I needed him to explain but he was too surprised to even say anything, or rather too shocked to see me. I  didn’t need any Daniel to read the writing on the wall for me.

So with magazine in hand and my bag on the other, I rushed out of the room down the stairs and out of the house. I  knew I heard foot steps behind me and I heard his voice calling me. But that was the last thing I heard before I crashed into an oncoming vehicle on the street as everything went black!

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