A Burning Impulse

"Love. What is it? Are you supposed to love someone unconditionally when the person you love causes you pain? Can it still be called love and not attachment? I have loved Mason for the past five years, but somewhere along the way, our love cooled down, leaving nothing but regrets, pain, anxiety, depression, and coldness. I fear that if I face reality, I will break. I don't want to lose Mason. We were supposed to spend our whole lives in bliss, but what is this feeling that clings to my chest, rendering me unable to breathe freely? I feel short of breath, and this world we have built is closing in on me. It's making me feel like a bird in a cage. Love isn't supposed to feel like this. Love shouldn't be this painful. *beep* The front door of our apartment opened, and his familiar footsteps neared the room. When he entered, he gave me a look before he began to undress. There was no conversation from his side, no greeting, nothing. He just gave me a plain look, making me feel more miserable than I already was. "Mason," I started, my hand clenching my phone. He just grunted in response. Not once did he turn around to face me as I spoke. He used to drop everything to listen to me. He used to listen to me without any distractions. But as I looked at the changed him, or perhaps the real him he had hidden from me, I was disheartened. "Are you even listening?" I asked, though what I really wanted to ask him was why he was seen going into a hotel with another woman in his arms. Why did he spend the night in a hotel room with her when he was supposed to be in a meeting with an important client at a restaurant that was in the opposite direction of the hotel? "Not now, May," Mason said, irritation lacing his tone. I took a shaky breath, trying to gather my composure. "Then when?" I demanded. "I f*****g lost a deal today, May. I'm not in the mood to entertain you," he hissed. I closed my eyes, trying to get my emotions in check. I was on edge, and that's not the best state to be in considering our situation. "You have a hickey on your neck," I commented, meeting his eyes for the first time today. He froze, an indescribable emotion crossing his face. Was it regret? Fear? I don't know anymore. I can't read this man anymore. He isn't the man I have known for the past five years. He has transformed into someone I couldn't recognize. "It's a mosquito bite," he said, not even bothering to make a believable excuse. "I see. Your secretary suddenly turned into a mosquito. What's next? Is she going to be your wife?" I mocked, done with taking his bullshit. I have been enduring it for too long. Am I supposed to wait for him like a good wife while he always calls me useless, makes me feel unworthy, and goes around sleeping with his secretary? Just how much am I supposed to endure? How long should I wait? "What did you say?" Mason asked. "I think you heard it perfectly well, but if you want to hear it again, here it is. I know about your little escapes with your secretary. That's not a mosquito bite but a love bite your secretary gave you." I got up from the bed and walked toward him. I was furious, and his plain answers were making me boil even more. So, in a fit of anger, I inched closer to him and hissed, "Tell me, Mason. What made you cheat? Was I not enough? Or was I not slutty enough for your taste?" For the first time in my life, I belittled another woman. All because of this man I loved. Regret slapped me almost immediately, but I couldn't take back the words, nor was I willing to. I was past rationality. All I saw was hurt and betrayal, and I'd be damned if I said I didn't feel pathetic. "May," Mason warned. He was looking at me with anger in his eyes. I stumbled in disbelief. He had the nerve to look at me with disappointment when he should have been looking at me with guilt. "What did I say wrong? Women like her are called homewreckers," I commented. "Tell me, am I wrong?" There was no answer. He stood like a statue, looking at me. Just looking at me and nothing else. No movement, no reaction, no guilt. He just had a neutral look that he carried in public. "Why aren't you answering me?" I demanded. "Just say something. Tell me any lies, but at least say something, you f*****g coward." With each passing sentence, I got more aggressive, screaming at him like a madwoman. All the while, he watched me silently, and when I was done, he looked me directly in the eyes and said… "I've had enough of this bullshit. Do you want to know what made me cheat? Well, maybe you could try and be as alluring as her." His gaze on my body made me feel dirty. His words cut deep, and I hated that I couldn't slap him. I hated that I couldn't say anything or curse at him. I just clutched my clothes, gathering them as if that could save the little dignity I had left. "I want a divorce," I decided, making a final verdict for our relationship. There was no use saving a relationship that was dead. What should a normal reaction be from any man who claims to love his woman? He should be begging, he should be crying, he should be trying to make a last effort to hold onto the relationship, but Mason did none of it. "You'll get the papers in the morning." Throwing those words at me, he picked up his blazer and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door of our apartment in the process. He never turned around, not even once. How could he? I thought as I fell to the ground, the tears I was holding back now falling freely. That night, I cried and waited for him for the last time, and that was it. Morning came, and as promised, Mason sent the divorce papers. Everything after that passed by in a blur, and a few months later (thanks to Mason's connections), I was a divorced woman. Throughout the process, I never talked to or looked at Mason, not even once. I knew I would break down in tears if I did, so I kept my gaze in check. It was a tormenting process for me. During the whole thing, I wondered many times what Mason was feeling inside. Was he sad like me? Indifferent like he had been with me? Or glad that I was finally gone? At the same time, I was boiling with rage and wanted nothing more than to scratch his face, smash the new vase he brought on his head, or sneak into the apartment we used to live in and shave his head. In the end, I neither got the answer I wanted nor did I get to have my petty revenge. Why? Because I didn't dare to. I called him a coward, but apparently, it was me who cowered away from him. The only thing I gained from the whole fiasco was the lesson that I should never trust again, and I made it my resolution to never repeat the mistake ever again. ~°~