FIRST WRITING PRIZE WINNER –
WINTER 2019 – 2020
is BRÖNTE MICHAELS
of SHEFFIELD, UNITED KINGDOM
Curiosity killed the honeymoon period
By Brönte Michaels
I sat on your bedroom floor holding your phone in my hand, shaking uncontrollably. I wanted to take it outside and smash every one of your windows with it and then drive as far away from your house as my car would take me. But I couldn’t because your son was in the next room sleeping. Your son, who I had offered to stay home with, and in doing so, I’d skipped university for that day. It was the first day of a 1-week school holiday and you didn’t have anyone to care for him on your first day at your new job.
I stared at the phone. None of this felt real. I felt as if I was watching myself, detached from the horrible scene. I couldn’t believe what I was reading, seeing. I pinched my arm so hard it gave me goosebumps on my face, and it brought tears to my eyes. But I wasn’t crying. I was angry. No, I was lava. There was no one word to describe the feeling. I had never felt that way before, ever. My insides were on fire and at the same time, I felt like I was drowning in ice. I was trembling from the inside and my heart felt like it was going to implode and kill me with a million of its shattered and disparate fragments. I fucking hated you, despised you. At the same time, I loved you.
We had only been together for 6 months at that point. 6 months exactly to that date actually. We had met on a dating app on 9th April. We had instantly connected and chatted all day. I was supposed to be doing course work but as usual, I was distracting myself with anything that came up. It was usually exercise or housework. That day it was you and I was happy about that. We talked every single day from that day onwards and finally made a date for 21st April to see each other. I wanted to see you much sooner than that, but you worked nights and cared for your son most weekends, so I understood your life was much more hectic than mine.
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That Sunday afternoon when I saw you for the first time standing at the bar, thick black hair hanging over your forehead, heavy rimmed black glasses framing your face; wearing jeans, a T-shirt, Vans, and a leather jacket, I think I fell in love right there. I remember muttering, “ohh, yesss!” under my breath as I walked towards you. I felt like I was in an erotic fantasy. My legs felt weak and my heart was pounding so hard, I felt like everyone around us could see it pulsing in my neck. My sexual energy soared through the roof. We had decided on that date to have a carvery. You can’t go wrong with a Sunday lunch. After the introductions and a lot of flirting, we were guided to our table. We had stood so close to each other in the queue waiting to be served. My back was to you and you put your arms around my waist and kissed my neck. I was alive with passion and flutters and heat and I thought my vagina was going to melt. I turned around without a second thought and kissed you on the lips, this turned into a full passionate kiss, our tongues wrestling and writhing like snakes. I could feel eyes on us; I quickly composed myself and turned back around, feeling your hardness pressing into the small of my back. This turned me on even more. I didn’t do public displays of affection, I hated seeing others do it, so I wasn’t going to start embarrassing myself. Thing is, I was gone in that moment, I wanted to consume every part of you in that queue. I’d been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to see you and the sexual tension was off the scale. In the middle of the floor in that place, surrounded by everyone, I wanted to rip your clothes off. This would have to wait another couple of weeks. I could not cope. I think I was in love with you before I met you.
Holding your phone in my hand felt like betrayal. I’d gone looking for any evidence that might confirm my intuition that you were up to something, or at least, had been. I’d found the phone in your spare room amongst clutter and old CD’s. It was turned off; battery dead but it was like a flashing beacon to me, so I charged it up. I wanted to know what was on it if anything. I knew I shouldn’t have done it. My insides were churning, I felt sick and I had to run to the toilet because I thought I may shit myself, literally. This whole experience was uncouth and alien and it was none of my business. I felt like I was violating your privacy. I was actually, but I felt that my need to know what secrets you held, was greater than your need to hide it. Although now, I know without a doubt, that was not true.
I decided not to contact you straight away to tell you that you were a lying, cheating bastard. I wanted to see the full extent of the damage you’d caused to this relationship. I was causing this damage to myself by wanting to know as many of the details as possible. I wanted to know everything about these women. I wanted to see exactly what you’d been up to.
The dates on which you’d obviously seen these women overlapped with us being in a relationship. This wasn’t just a case of you dating more than one person in the beginning. This was you fucking a married woman who you worked with, 3 months into us seeing each other and continuing a ‘thing’ you had with another single woman, who you met just before me. This was after you had told me you wanted us to be exclusive and after vowing to me that you’d never hurt me and that you’d never cheat because that wasn’t who you were. By that time, at the time you had cheated on me, we had already declared that we loved each other. For me, you were my one, the one.
I often felt like your mind was elsewhere when I was out of sight. We only saw each other Friday through to Sunday every week for 2 ½ years, before you moved in with me. During the week, you worked nights and we lived a 50-minute drive from each other, so we had our own time to ourselves. I was glad of this but at the same time, I felt that it left us open for ambush. I was right, YOU were the one who was doing the ambushing, and the rest.
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I had scrolled through your messages and found the first contact which ignited my curiosity. The message was from Rebecca Foster. The date read 12th July. In her contact picture, she was wearing a black dress and her dark hair straight, to her shoulders. I realised that you must have saved that picture in your phone, at the side of her name. My heart felt like it had swollen to the size of a cantaloupe and was blocking my throat. I couldn’t breathe properly. I opened the messages. The first thing I read was her telling you that she was attending a wedding at the weekend. No reply from you. Ok. I scrolled back as far as the messages would take me. The text messages went back to the end of May. Some of the messages alluded to pictures that had been sent. Maybe these were via What’s App. “Shit!!” you had a new phone so your What’s App account wasn’t active on here. You’d deleted any incriminating pictures. I couldn’t see anything. Why did I even want to? Wasn’t this torture enough? I felt sick in the head.
I couldn’t get my head around what I had started to read. The content was graphic. It was sexual and lustful and descriptive. It was stomach-churning and vile to read. All these things you were saying to each other, and just a couple of months into our relationship. You were describing to her what you wanted her to do to you and vice versa. I wanted to vomit. I looked at the dates and worked out that you must have seen each other a few times, quite close together, one being very late on Sunday evening which was Father’s Day in June. This was the day you skyped me while your son was there. You told me that he was staying over that night and you were having a ‘boys-night’. Little did I know that he wasn’t staying over at yours and that you had arranged to see her.
The next time was on the Friday after Father’s Day. I was going to my friend’s house for the evening and I had a weird feeling but didn’t quite know why. I’d not heard from you all day and I just ‘knew’ something was off with you. I remember feeling really uneasy and not wanting to contact you. You had left it until about 8 pm that evening to contact me but I didn’t reply to you. I felt like I wanted you to sweat a bit. The longer I left it, the more you kept texting, which made me more suspicious. I knew you were up to something and I still wish to this day that I’d gone to your house without telling you. I’m not absolutely sure about any other times when you had been with her but I did remember that we’d spent the whole week together running up to Father’s Day. I’d gone home on that Sunday afternoon and was missing you like crazy when we were talking on skype. You had been messaging her while I was staying with you that week.
I was piecing the puzzle together and remembering certain days and times when we had been in contact or seen each other and you’d been in touch with her at the same time. My mind was a hundred miles an hour. I was in turmoil, making new discoveries and waking up to the truth second by second. There were many times when you would text me in the mornings after your night shift and tell me you were home and going to bed because you were tired. Then I’d see you online, sometimes hours later, on What’s App or Facebook. You must have been talking to Rebecca and Alice (the single one), maybe someone else? Who knows? There were the few times when I’d feel slightly uneasy when driving over to your house in the mornings on a Friday. I felt like my intuition was telling me that something wasn’t right and when I got to your house, I’d feel sick. There would be something about your behaviour that didn’t quite match up, but I could never put my finger on it. I realise now, that was my intuition and I should have paid more attention to it.
One message Rebecca had sent you on a Friday morning was to ask you what time I was coming to your house, referring to me as your “girlfriend”. That fucking jezebel knew about me! Your reply was that I’d be there in about an hour. I’m not entirely sure what the response or the outcome of this was, but I do remember it sparked a memory I had, which could have been the very same morning?
One Friday morning, when I arrived at your house, the front door was locked and when you answered the door some minutes later, you were on edge, and that instantly made me nervous. I felt like someone had just left your house by the side door, but I had no idea why I thought that I couldn’t see that door or through the house, but again, it was just a ‘feeling’. You came sauntering into the kitchen to answer the door and greet me saying you’d just got out of the shower, but I didn’t believe you. We argued that morning about how I ‘looked’ at you. Later in the day, I tried the side door and it was unlocked. You never left that door unlocked and as far as you always told me, you didn’t use it. You saw me do this and you looked uncomfortable. You looked directly at me then turned to walk upstairs. I asked you why the door was unlocked. Without making eye contact, you told me that the postman had delivered something, and you’d forgotten to lock the door. I didn’t believe you, again.
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There was a time a little later than any messages I was aware of, in September, when I’d stayed at your house on a Sunday night. You were working a night shift. Your son was staying over and going to school the next morning. I had stayed over to ensure that he got up and left for school on time. You usually returned from work around 8 am. On that morning you didn’t arrive back until around 10 am. I felt so strongly that you were doing something that you wouldn’t want me to know about. I felt frantic but I couldn’t justify feeling that way and I felt really bad for having the doubts and suspicions. I felt sick. When you got back you told me that you’d been held back at work, but your attitude was shit and you were defensive, so we argued. I didn’t believe you. But again, I didn’t say what I felt, and I couldn’t prove it.
With Alice, the messages weren’t graphic, and they fizzled out after about June. With Rebecca, the messages seemed to stop after the end of July. I’m unsure whether this was a short-lived fling or whether this was because you got a new phone around August time and she was messaging you on that?
There were so many more instances I was recalling to memory and light bulbs were pinging everywhere in my brain. So many things were falling into place and made so much sense to me.
Thing is, writing all this and reading it all back makes me think, why the fuck didn’t I carry on with the break we had. It lasted 2 days and during that time we only didn’t talk for 1 day. Why, when I found out that my intuition was right, didn’t I make the decision to never turn back and to leave you behind for good? I was so right with all my feelings. I would sometimes sit at home feeling like I was going crazy, but never really knowing why or having any evidence to back those feelings up. I just knew. You made me feel like I was going insane and I never confronted you. How could I? They were just feelings with no validation. I didn’t know you then like I do now, you would have sworn that black was white and then convinced me to believe it. You appeared so sincere and genuine. But you weren’t, I found that out once the truth was out. That’s to come.
Holding this phone now, I had a million questions for you. I didn’t know how I truly felt. I was numb. I despised you. I loved you. I never wanted to lay eyes on you again. How could I leave after 6 intense months of reinforcing our love for each other? I’d never felt with anyone like I did with you. You were different, or so I thought, you made me believe I was safe and that you had my back. I wanted to leave the phone on the bed and walk out of your life, never to see you again. I wanted to ask you everything. I didn’t want to know anything. How could something that felt so good (most of the time) be so bad? I didn’t know who you were. I couldn’t believe this had happened because, for me, this meant the end. This felt so illusory. I wanted to make it work but this felt impossible now. I was so confused and angry and heartbroken. Now, I was crying.
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About the author:
I love writing about my experiences; relationships with partners, friends, family, and childhood. I’m a Social Worker by day, writer by night. I get paid to work with others and I get to do some self-cathartic intervention for free. I enjoy yoga and the gym in my spare time and mountain biking in the summer months. I LOVE coffee, decaf, however, as I often struggle to sleep and caffeine is my kryptonite. ~Brönte Michaels
