We’re All Messed Up

It was a conspiracy. Or at least that’s what my shrink called it. Ah my shrink…the one who makes me wonder if it’s she or I who actually needs therapy. She always has one opinion or the other about anything and everything: the constellation of stars, global warming, war, racism and whatever else there is to talk about. Most of the time, I’m the one who ends up dragging her from the brink of insanity.  Maybe, I’ll just say we complement each other.

Anyway, this is not about my shrink. It’s about me and how I think my boyfriend is cheating on me. In all fairness, I have no proof but how else am I supposed to explain the cloud of female perfume he walks into the house with every night, his shaky hands whenever his phone rings and the furtive glances he sends my way whenever I walk into the room unexpectedly. What’s worse? I tried logging into his computer yesterday but the password didn’t work because he changed it. Since when did he change his password without telling me?

I have finally reached my limit of endurance and so, I am going ahead with my plan to hire a private investigator despite my shrink’s ‘professional’ advice. She thinks something is going on alright, she just doesn’t think he’s cheating on me. As usual, she has let her over active imagination convince her that there is more to my boyfriend’s strange behavior, something weird, bizarre or maybe even an obvious secret; something staring me right in the face. Oh well, I don’t care anymore, I am getting to the bottom of this black hole of not knowing.

I hired a private investigator yesterday, one that I couldn’t afford. That was the least of my worries though because I found myself inexplicably attracted to the man. His intense gaze, lithe fingers and sensual body sent my imagination on a wild journey and I wisely chose to keep my distance till he had information for me. He was after all only helping me find out if my boyfriend was cheating. Nothing else. Or at least that’s what I tried to tell myself.

It’s been a week since the investigation began and today is the day I’ll find out if my relationship is over or not. I know it will damage me if my boyfriend is cheating and it takes all my willpower not to turn my car around and give an excuse not to meet the investigator. As I sit down across the room from him, I can see something in his eyes, something like pity and melancholic knowing. It’s like he’s telling me something he’s not saying, something I already know.

He’s flipping through his notes now and I watch him restlessly, my palms getting sticky, not just because of my fear of the unknown but because of my fear of the known, my inability to stop thinking about this man in front of me. He clears his throat for the third time in the past minute before pulling his glasses lower on his nose and staring me straight in the eyes. I wish I could look away but my eyes defy me. What the hell is wrong with me? My boyfriend is the cheat so why are thoughts of this mysterious investigator suddenly filling my mind?

‘Your boyfriend is having an affair.’

Numbness engulfs me and my fingers begin to shake uncontrollably as silent tears roll down my cheeks. I am not even surprised that my suspicions were confirmed, just cold. I kind of feel free but sad at the same time because, we’ve been together since I remember. I just can’t bring myself to stop thinking about the man before me.

‘With your therapist.’ He adds. Ah. So this is about my therapist.

I can feel myself slipping away slowly, my throat is suddenly dry and I can’t seem to get enough air, it’s like my lungs have become too small for me.

‘I don’t believe you.’ I hear myself say. Saying that felt robotic. I said it because that was the normal ‘grieving girlfriend’ thing to say. The investigator is saying something but I can’t hear anymore, I can only see his lips moving, drawing me in. How is this happening to me? How am I heartbroken yet attracted to this man at the same time?

The feeling of freedom that just overcame me was short lived. I feel trapped now, like I’m in some sort of bondage, a weird love triangle…or is it square? And this uncontrollable attraction I feel towards this investigator is consuming me. If I ever had a holy thought about this man, my brain won’t let me remember. All I can think of are the nasty, uncultured things I could do with this man.

Oh sh*t! I’m a mess. This is why I need therapy. But my therapist is the other woman. And I’m already losing my mind pining after another man. Maybe she was right all along, it is a conspiracy, it is weird, bizarre and a secret that should have been obvious. Someway somehow, we are all messed up and are just covering madness with sane people clothes. I think I’m right as well because I’m leaning forward to kiss this sexy piece of human and he’s leaning towards me too, his eyes heavy with desire.

My eyes close as our lips meet and when they open again, I’m on my bed wondering why I always have the strangest of dreams. Just like this one.


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