Diseased Soul

By Andy Hayward All Rights Reserved ©

Romance / Other

Chapter 20

From: Elizabeth.

To:

Date: 09/01/2009 20:18:45

Subject: RE: LEAVE ME ALONE Please, I beg you. Leave me alone. Stop calling. Stop leaving messages. Stop texting. Stop calling over to Mums house and knocking on the front door. It’s nothing short of harassment. Closed curtains should’ve told you to keep away but like a disgusting smell from a blocked drain, you just kept coming back. You’ve driven Mum to live in dark for nearly two weeks which is hardly the way treat your mother-in-law! The whole situation is stressing me out, it’s stressing Mum out and it’s stressing the dog out. Mum and Custard are old and frail so if they get sick and die it will be your fault. Mum’s already turned to drinking. She now starts and ends her days with a couple glugs of whiskey, just like Aunty! It’ll be tranquilizers next and we all know what happened the last time! I can’t go through all that again. I can’t bear the thought of Mum attempting suicide again. I don’t suppose you care. You’re not satisfied unless your hands are covered with blood. Let’s face it, you executed Roobarb and killed my beautiful little baby girl. Next it will be Custards turn for the guillotine, then Mums. Then you’ll turn to my family and before I know it I won’t have anyone left in my life to love and adore me. Only then will it be my turn for the chop. I just know it. It’s obvious. It’s the most effective way of inflicting aguish, pain and suffering. I’ve seen it thousands of times in Hollywood movies. When mobsters can’t get back the money from jerk they lent it to they go after his family – and believe me the jerk is always a man, never a woman. That’s why you’ve been contacting my family and friends behind my back. You tried to get to at them so you could get at me. You must have figured that if you could get them on your side, convince them of your lies, they’d be willing to help you in your desperate attempt to get me back. FUCKINGDELUDEDBASTARD. You underestimate me. On Christmas day when I was forced by YOU to leave MY beautiful home, I took refuge at Mums. There, I thought long and hard about all the underhand tricks you’d try to pull. And after a lovely Christmas lunch with all the trimmings, which you missed – rightly so too– I spent the remainder of day telling everyone the painful truth about your despicable behaviour. I changed my status on Facebook to “single” and posted “Beth has broken free from the chains her bullying husband”. FUCKINGUNDERSTATEMENTOFTHEYEAR. I called everyone in my phonebook, emailed all my friends and colleagues and told them, sobbing, the evil truth about how you control and manipulate me; the emotional and physical abuse I’ve suffered at your hands; how you oppress me; how you gave me no choice about becoming pregnant and forced into marriage. I drew their attention to the lousy gifts, the dinners out, the weekends away, the holiday’s; all shallow attempts to buy my affections, designed to coax me into surrendering to your whims and fancies, especially in the bedroom. I’m not some sort of cheap slut who can be bought off with a few trifles! And when given the chance to really impress me by buying the all-important wedding gift, you failed miserably and gave me nothing! I expected more and it was embarrassing to the EXTREME having to tell everyone, especially Mum, that my new husband saw fit to overlook one our family’s longest standing traditions. It was a downright abysmal start to my marriage. I also told them how, since I allowed you into my life, you’ve bored me with the intimate details of all your previous sexual relationships. What kind of man tells the woman he claims to love about how he learned to find the G-spot? It’s not the kind of man I want to be with. It’s sick, REALLYFUCKINGSICK. I also told them about how very painful it’s been to watch you eyeing-up and flirting with anything wearing skirt. I mean, it’s obvious you were attracted to Sex-Bomb from the moment we walked to into the Jewellers to buy THERING. Your eyes were fixed on her pert tits and slender pins. And I bet that’s why you went back there so many times. It had nothing to do with THERING or that dreadful necklace you had the impudence to give me as a Christmas present. You went back to see her. You DIRTYLITTLESHIT! I bet you wanted to fuck up the arse just like her boss does. Men are all the same. They CANNOT AND SHOULD NOT be trusted. I began rounding off my agonising summary of your heinous behaviour by telling everyone – and I do mean everyone – about the dinner receipts I found in your jacket pocket and the condoms I discovered in the front pocket of your work satchel. The receipts were for dinners I never ate, at places I’d never dined, and the knock-out-punch: condoms had never part of our sex life. Everyone agreed there was only one conclusion. It’s obvious that you’ve been having an affair, probably with Viking Beauty or some other hondt from the lab. All academics use their lofty positions to their advantage to get laid so why should you be any different? The real clincher came when I told everyone about how you accused me of being bad a mother. The cause of the miscarriage, they agreed, was the pressure and stress you put me under. Blaming it on the odd drink and cigarette was clutching at straws, they said. How ridiculous! And how heartless! I needed support in my hour of need not damning accusations! BASTARD. It was truly awful being forced out of my home on Christmas Day and having to disclose the horrors of my marriage to my loving family and loyal friends. But it had to done. I had to tell them unforgivable truth about you. By the time I had finished describing all the monstrous things you’ve said and done everyone agreed that leaving you, even on Christmas day, was the only thing to do. My long list of friends, hundreds at the last count, like my family, know that I’m a kind, loving, compassionate woman, softly spoken, considerate, polite, hardworking; just a few of my many positive characteristics. If you think for a minute they’ll be foolish enough to believe that I’m the kind of woman who spits, swears, gets pissed and loses control…well…Think again loser. No-one in their right mind will be taken in by that story. It’s so outlandish. Yet another feeble attempt to control me! You’ll have to accept you’re not the man I married. You’re a monster. You’ve dragged me to hell and back and hurt me beyond measure. I now have to pick up the pieces. I now have to admit I made the biggest mistake of my life when I let you press-gang me into marriage. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want reconciliation. FUCKINGLEAVEMEALONE. There’s nothing more I can say or do. I’ve had what little fun I wanted with you but now I’m done.

From:

To: Elizabeth.

Date: 10/01/2009 06:22:47

Subject: RE: LEAVE ME ALONE

Your interpretation of these last months is bizarre. If anyone has been browbeaten it’s me! It’s a mistake, surely, to stone-wall discussion at this early juncture. Allowing our marriage to fizzle-out after just a few months is unsatisfactory; hardly the success story I wanted. How can you walk away from marriage so soon? Refusing to talk robs our marriage of all its value. I have no idea why you bothered to commit to marriage at all. Why take profound vows, publicly, when you had little intention of honouring them? Was it for money? Was it for the sake of the baby? What? Why bother with marriage, if six months is all that you are willing to give? Six months. We’re worth much more than that! I’m worth more than that.

From: Elizabeth.

To:

Date: 18/01/2009 14:15:51

Subject: RE: LEAVE ME ALONE

Face it. You’re not the man I married. You’re a despicable monster. Evil to the core. I want you to leave the flat immediately. I don’t want you there. Mum doesn’t want you there. I want to return to the lovely home I was forced to leave. You have until end the week to find alternative accommodation. If you can’t; stay with a friend, book yourself into a hotel, whatever. IDON’TFUCKINGCARE. I want you out of my life and out of MYFLAT. The quicker the better. And Jon, let me be absolutely clear. You’re not good enough to be shit on my shoes, let alone my husband. Six months with you felt like I was death row. Move on. Find another victim.


From:

To: Elizabeth.

Date: 18/01/2009 15:27:12

Subject: RE: LEAVE ME ALONE

Harsh words. Other than muting the crowd and bringing the pain of your absence to an end what good would leaving the flat do? Moving out will kill any hope of reconciliation, end our marriage and bring with it of new kind of pain I’m not quite ready for. I cannot leave, not yet. It’s premature. It’s crazy. We have not yet made one attempt to reconcile.

The current conditions are mutually beneficial and offer our marriage the best chance of survival. At present, you’re safe, comfortable and are well cared for. I’m confident your mum is spoiling you. I’m relatively comfortably here too. The existing status quo is moderately inexpensive for us both. You’re paying no rent or bills. The small rent I pay to your mum is helping my finances recover from the tremendous strain that our wedding, honeymoon, and our post-marriage lifestyle has put them under. Staying in the flat will also minimise my levels of stress and reduce the likelihood of me falling sick. I desperately want to avoid that. I don’t want to fall off that cliff top. Come. Nothing about moving out makes sense.

Substituting me in the flat for you is senseless. It verges on the insane. It’s like the driver of a car using a perfectly serviceable right-rear tyre to replace a punctured left-rear: It’s utterly pointless and won’t get to him to where he’s heading. Beth, changing the status quo is futile. It will end dialogue where it needs to begin. It will increase financial load where it needs to lighten. It will drive us farther apart instead of drawing us together. We agreed to live here together, first as partners and then as a married couple. The flat was to be our home – at least in the short term – and it was just that until you imposed this ridiculous and unjustified separation. It’s now my turn to be clear. Eyes to the front? Good. It was your decision to leave not mine. Why should I have to cover the costs, financial or otherwise of your knee jerk reaction? Come tell me. Yes, I’m annoyed. I’m angry. It’s a bloody outrage.

More to the point, there is no way on this earth, now or in the near future, that I can afford to move out. And it seems foolish to enter into a rental contract with a minimum term of, say, six months when my employment contract will expire in just three. Don’t you remember I’m a post-doc? I cannot afford the expense of a hotel room! It’s Impractical to stay with a friend and uncomfortable to stay on my office floor with which I’m already well acquainted. The best solution all-round is for me to stay exactly where I am and for you to stay exactly where you are. It’s a rational approach to counter the fall-out of your irrational decision to leave. It’s time to grow up.

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