I looked at the woman sitting across from me willing myself to feel something, anything, even if it was just a flicker of interest. Anything to tell me that I’m not dead, that I’m still among the living.
But all I felt was a deep emptiness. That shroud of darkness still enveloped me after all this time. Like a black void that I had crawled into and couldn’t find my way back from.
I knew that this is how it would be. That there would be nothing there, for her, or anyone else. I knew that it would be the same today, tomorrow, and fifty years from now.
She wasn’t a bad looking woman, and I’m sure there’s any number of men in the city who’d give their right arm to be by her side. But I’m not one of them. I’m never going to be.
She smiled across the dinner table at me as we both pretended to pick at our food and I could see the tension in her, the questions in her eyes. I felt almost angry with her for forcing us to this point. I’d wanted to avoid this; I knew it was inevitable.
She’d been such a good friend I found it hard to do to her what I knew I would if we took this path. But she seemed to want it so much, and my protest and denials didn’t seem to work. So now, here we are.
I let my eyes travel over her one last time. The dress she wore was fitted across her chest seductively, the deep vee of the neckline showing off the creamy skin of her cleavage to perfection.
She was perfectly manicured and coiffed, not a hair out of place. Even the way she lifted the fork to her lips seemed cultured and refined and fit perfectly with her well-bred upbringing.
Still, I felt nothing, nothing but distaste and repulsion, at myself. Even to sit and have a meal with her as man and woman leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. In fact, it’s only at times like these that I feel like I’m betraying ‘her’.
Maybe that’s why I hate it so much. Why it makes my skin crawl to even come up the driveway. Why I go home and sit in darkness for hours afterward until the feelings pass.
It’s not like I don’t think of my woman every fucking second of the day. But it’s only when I’m forced to come here because I’ve run out of excuses that I feel this sense of suffocation.
Always in her presence, I feel like it’s a betrayal of the worst sort, and maybe it is. So why did I think that I could go through with this? Why had I even let myself be talked into it? And why was it only now that I felt this strongly when I hadn’t given a damn about anything in so long?