Life Without You

by S. P. West

  At first, I thought I’d put in the wrong password when I tried to access his email earlier this morning. I’d cursed my lack of sleep and suspicious mind as each of my attempts were rejected. It was only after the third try that I figured that Alex had changed it. That he’d locked me out of his account.

  I tried with his cell phone - access denied. Bank accounts - denied. Everything I tried. Denied.

  Denied.

  Denied.

  Denied.

  I can’t believe that I’ve been shut out of from every single part of Alex’s life.

  He’d even changed his password on his Facebook account to prevent access. When I logged into mine, I could see that he’d un-friended me so that I had to search for him. When I typed his name nothing came up, I tried searching through mutual friends, again there was nothing. On a hunch, I logged out and searched again through our mutual friends. This time bingo! There in all its glory, was the profile of one Alex Thorson.

  A stab of pain hit my heart that he was so obviously, and so publicly pulling away from me. The man who promised me forever, the man who told me he would never break my heart had been wiping me out of his life bit by bit. It was becoming clearer and clearer that Alex didn’t just want a break, he wanted out of the marriage. He just hadn’t officially bothered tell me yet.

  Alex’s profile picture had changed. Gone was the picture of us taken last year in London, it’d been replaced by a photo that I’d not seen of him before. So I clicked on it to get a closer look.

  He was standing on a golden, sandy beach. Behind him was a crystal clear, turquoise sea - it’s a beach that I didn’t recognize. He was shirtless drawing my eye to his tanned skin and defined abs. His arms were reaching out towards the person behind the camera, a broad smile on his face, he looked happier than I have seen him over the past few months. At first, I thought it was an old picture from before we were together, then I noticed that he was wearing a pair of board shorts that I bought for him a few months back. Pain pierced through me, I had to put my hand over my mouth to stifle a wail of despair that had up welled deep inside me as I realized that photo was taken fairly recently. Questions tumbled round and round my sleep-deprived brain demanding answers.

  When had he done this? Who was he with? Why didn’t he tell me?

  To tell you the truth, what hurt the most was that whoever took the picture could make my husband smile yet everything I did earnt his scorn. For all I knew, the person behind the camera could have been passing stranger. How fucked up is that? A stranger could bring more joy to Alex’s life than his partner. I wondered if he hated me. What had I done that was so bad that he felt the need to give me a great big, very public ‘fuck off’?

  I never did get back to sleep after that.

  Instead, in a sadistic effort to quieten my mind, I continued to work on the scrapbook, which why these two pictures were now taunting me.

  The sound of a key turning in the lock causes me to snap out of my reverie. Hastily wiping the tears from my eyes before shoving the photographs under a pile of bills, I wait for Alex to make his appearance. I really wish that I’d changed out of the ratty T-shirt that I wore to bed last and put some make-up on... then again why should I make an effort for him? Let him see how much he has hurt me, let him feel guilty!

  The door to the apartment slams shut and instead of yelling out a greeting or popping his head round the door to the kitchen, I hear him walk down the hall straight to our bedroom. The breath that I didn’t know I was holding escapes me and I tense knowing instinctively that whatever we say to each other in the upcoming confrontation will be brutal. I continue to sit at the table for a more minutes just trying to gather my wits about me before finding the strength to get up and head to our bedroom. As I approach I can hear the sound of drawers quickly opening and shutting, the rattle of hangers as clothes are pulled off them. There is nothing slow and leisurely about it, everything is being done in a hurry. Alex has already made up his mind, even without seeing it I know that he is leaving me. He doesn’t even want to talk to me about it, he just wants to go.

  Anger and hurt wage a war for dominance as I push the door to the bedroom open. The scene in front of me causes me to gasp in shock and I have to lean against the doorframe for support. Everywhere I look is chaos. An open suitcase rests on our double bed, clothes haphazardly slung into it; piles of T-shirts, shirts, jeans and underwear are strewn across the floor. Alex’s expensive, handmade suits have been dumped without care on top of our oak chest of drawers. His shoes and sneakers have been shoved into a sports bag by the door.

  I can only stare helplessly, my fists balled at my sides as I try to reign my emotions in. My first coherent thought is to flee and just let him get on with it. My second is to kick in him the nuts, hard and repeatedly for being a such a bloody coward, for running away and not having the decency to tell me, his wife, why. Fortunately, for Alex, I decide that assaulting him probably wouldn’t do the baby or me any good. Instead I take a few calming breaths and patiently wait for him to make an appearance.

  He will give me answers.

  The seconds tick by slowly before Alex comes out of the en-suite bathroom, his arms laden with his toiletries. He doesn’t look at me, instead takes his stuff and dumps it on top of whatever he has put in the suitcase, before forcefully closing it. He fumbles with the zip and I notice that his hands are shaking. I take a moment to look at him as he gets more and more upset at this inability to close something as simple as a zip. He looks terrible. I feel a myself smirk at the thought that he looks worse than me. His hair is disheveled, his face flushed with anger, his jaw is tense emphasizing that his stubble where he hasn’t shaved. It looks as though he is wearing last night’s clothes and I would willingly bet you that his eyes are blood shot. He looks dangerous. I know that he has seen me and I know full well he is just itching for an argument. Any excuse to go storming out of the door.

  I hear it now

  “I had to leave, she was hysterical.”

  “It was all her fault - she just went for me. I didn’t do anything.”

  I refuse to give him that satisfaction, despite my natural need to go in all guns blazing, I take another approach.

  “Coffee?” I ask, forcing myself to be as calm as I possibly can while inside my hearts pounds with dread at what he may say.

  “What?” He snaps at me, his eyes meeting mine at last and with some form of perverse delight I note that they are indeed blood shot.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  He continues to stare at me, his eyes full of anger and hate. My heart cracks that little bit more.

  “No.” He finally answers, his voice gentle this time before repeats, “no thank you.” and turns to return to his packing.

  I will get answers.

  “So you’re definitely leaving then?”

  He ignores my question and carries on trying to zip up the suitcase.

  Tears well up in my eyes at being rebuffed, yet again, by the man I love. I’m torn between shouting at him and begging for answers. I just want to know the truth and I send a silent prayer to whichever god is listening.

  Please....

  “Alex. Please answer me,” I coax

  His shoulders sag in defeat and he takes a deep shuddering breath. As he turns to look at me, I note that his mouth is still a hard line but his eyes have softened. Alex takes the suitcase, placing it on the floor. He then sits down on the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face before looking at me and opening his mouth to speak.

  “Yes,” he begins, “Yes, I’m leaving you.”

  I clutch at my throat trying to stifle the sob that I can feel rising. “Were you just going take your stuff and go without saying a word?”

  Alex nods his head sadly in confirmation.

  “Why?” I beg, losing my battle to stay calm.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not an answer Alex.”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats, his head in his hands.


  “Sorry for what?”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what?” I can hear the hysterical note in my voice, I’m close to tears and my heart is breaking. I just want answers.

  “Us. I can’t do us.”

  Finally, the tears come, “don’t you love me anymore?” I wail.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Why can’t he give me an answer?

  “Just tell me the truth Alex, just tell me THE FUCKING TRUTH!” I scream.

  Alex stands abruptly and makes his way over to me, cupping my face in his left hand making no move to wipe away my tears. He leans and places gentle kiss on my lips, then steps back.

  “I love you Summer, I do, I’m just not in love with you anymore.” His voices hitches at the end.

  My knees buckle under me and I double over in pain. He scoops me up in arms and holds me tight. For a moment, I feel at peace, closer to my husband than have been in ages and then it hits me.

  “Nonononono.” I cry into his chest. “I love you Alex and I know you love me. I know you do.”

  “Not in the way you want me to,” He says sadly, as he strokes my hair.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Sum I’m…”

  “We can fix this, we’ll see a therapist,” I interrupt.

  “No we can’t Summer, I’m sorry.”

  “Why? Why can’t we fix this? We were happy Alex... What’s changed so much that you want to leave me?”

  He doesn’t say anything but gently pushes me off his lap and onto the bed. He grabs the suitcase off the floor and carries it to the door.

  “You want to know why, Summer?” His face once again wearing the mask of indifference that I had grown used to, “you honestly want the truth?”

  “Yes” I whisper.

  “The truth is I don’t know. I only know I want out.” He looks at the floor before looking back at me. “I’ll get the rest of my stuff another day, when we’ve had time to cool down.”

  I look at him in paralyzed horror, unable to utter a word. I swear my heart has shattered into a dust so fine that it will never be whole again.

  “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen Sum. I’m... “

  “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!”

  “I am Sum, I’m really, really sorry.” He stutters and turns and walks out the door, out of my life.

  “Alex.” I cry snapping out of the shock that had rendered me temporarily mute, “Where will you go? Where are you staying? Answer me goddamnit. ALEX!”

  He doesn’t say a word, ignoring my pleas as he slinks away.

  “Who did you send the flowers to?” I whisper as I hear the front door close softly.

  Pain rips through me and I throw myself on the bed, curling up into a tight ball in a desperate need for protection for the hurt I’m feeling.

  I feel utterly alone, so very, very alone.

  A little while later my cell phone chirps with the notification that I’ve received an email.

  I scramble off the bed in the hope that it is the message is from Alex telling me that he’s changed his mind. My cell is sitting on the coffee table in the living room where it had been all night. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a small brown envelope bearing my name in Alex’s handwriting. It’s propped up against the cactus plant that Alex and I bought at a farmers’ market a few years ago. I’d named it Colin much to Alex’s amusement. Ignoring the envelope, my hands shake as I grab my phone and press the home button revealing the message was from Violet asking me how I was. I send her short reply to asking her to call me later before placing my cell back on the table and turning my attention to opening the mysterious envelope.

  Alex’s wedding ring falls from the envelope and onto the floor rolling under the couch before I can get to it. Checking the envelope again I find inside a note.

  And just like my husband has ended our marriage without even discussing it with me first.

  There is no date on the letter leaving me to wonder when he had the time to write it. I’m suddenly struck by the thought that he must have written it before he came to pick up his clothes. His leaving me was not a spur of the moment thing; he’d actually planned this.

  It didn’t matter whether he had been thinking about it for weeks or hours, the fact remained that he had no intention of talking to me, of trying to save our relationship. He’d decided, however long ago, that our marriage was over and I don’t get a choice in the matter.

  I slump onto the couch and rest my head in my hands while my emotions continue to wage war. Angry, hurt, humiliated, devastated all at once.

  Alex hasn’t even given me a proper reason for wanting separate, just some lame arsed excuse.

  It’s at this point that my temper gets the better of me and I rip the offending scrap of paper in to tiny little pieces before throwing them in the waste bin under the computer desk.

  I make my way back to the couch rubbing my forehead in a vain attempt to rid myself of the headache that is forming from all the stress of the day. I need painkillers to dull the ache; I think I have Advil in the cupboard so I head out to the kitchen instead.

  I’m just about to take a couple when it hits me that I probably shouldn’t because of the baby. God, knows what would happen if I did.

  The baby!

  What will happen with the baby? Panic sets in as I realize that in all probability I’ll be going it alone as single mum.

  If Alex wants to separate, that’ll lead to divorce and then I doubt he’ll want our child. We’ll just be a millstone around his neck, an annoying reminder of the life he left behind. Maybe I could go home to live in England and raise my baby there; at least we’ll have family around to help us.

  If I stay, I’ll be homeless, have no health insurance and have to cope with a tiny baby with hardly any support. I have very little money of my own and I rely on Alex for health cover. These thoughts run through my head in an endless commentary as I go into survival mode.

  God.

  Somehow I’ll have to find the money to obtain an attorney, find the money to see the OB/GYN, find a new apartment for the baby and me. All I want to do is curl up into a ball and die.

  For what feels like the millionth time since he walked out the door tears flow from my eyes and drip onto the kitchen counter. I make no effort to stop them.

  I wonder if there is some way you can just stop loving someone. To be in love with them one day and bam, the next you’re not. Because right now I’d really like to know how. I’m so angry with him for leaving, for that letter – how dare he? What have I done to deserve that?

  An internal debate rages within me. All manner of emotions and arguments go back and forth within my mind.

  I hate him!

  No, I don’t.

  I want to hate him; I want to curse the day he was born but I can’t.

  I love him, he loves me.

  No he doesn’t.

  There’s someone else.

  No.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Please, someone, tell me how to make it stop. Tell me how to make the pain go away.

  You hear stories of people dying of a broken heart. Is that even possible? If it is then take me now.

  I can’t believe that Alex has gone. How could he do this to me? How?

  He promised me, he made a vow on our wedding day that he would not walk away.

  Bloody hell, is there anything else he’s going to spring on me?

  I honestly don’t think I could take anymore. People don’t just up and leave their spouses because they are unhappy, there is something more to it than that. I know there is and I’m going to find out.

  Walking back into the living room, I grab the laptop and settle back down on the couch.

  I know I must be missing something. The Alex I knew would not walk away for no good reason and I refuse to believe that my husband has fallen out of love with me.

  I have to find out what’s going on.

  Bef
ore I can open a new window on my browser, Violet messages me to say that she’s online and to ask if I’m okay. I reply with; No, I’m not and not a few seconds later a window pops up on the screen requesting a video call from her.

  After the crap I’ve had to deal with today, it is a relief to see her smiling face. I notice that she’s dyed her hair a shocking shade of pink this week and instead of her usual bright blue eyes, she is sporting a pair of pink contact lenses. Quite frankly, she looks demonic.

  “What’s going on?” Violet demands without pre-amble.

  I try to steady my breath and hold the back howl of despair that is threatening to rip from my throat. Instead, I turn my head away from the screen, as once again I break down in tears unable to hide my pain from my best friend thousands of miles away.

  “Summer...?” She queries, her voice soft, “sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  I continue to bawl, using the sleeve of Alex’s tee to try to mop up some of the tears and snot.

  “You’re scaring me Sum.” She becomes more and more frantic, “what’s the matter? Has something happened? Is Alex around? Do you want me to call him?”

  “No!” I say more forcefully than intended. It’s then that I finally find the strength to face her, catching a glimpse of my reflection on the laptop screen. My hair is a mess, my face and eyes puffy from the hours I’ve spent crying. If Violet is shocked by my appearance she certainly doesn’t let on.

  “Why not?” She queries gently.

  “No point.”

  “Honey, Summer, you’re not making any sense...”

  “He’s…he’s…left….me.”

  Violet’s shocked into stony silence for a moment before her delicate features twist into something of pure fury.

  “What the hell?!” She demands angrily as I try to stop myself from breaking down again, “when the fuck did this happen?”

  “Earlier today.” I sniff, proud of myself for not descending into tears.