I sat in the darkness, waiting for the call that I knew would never come.
Sighing, I cursed the phone, as if that would make him call. He hadn't
called in four days, a new record. Walking around the dark, silent house,
I wondered why I bothered. He had a whole another life that didn't include
me. Traveling from city to city, performing in countless arenas, there was
hardly any room for me. I'm not naïve, I knew what I was getting myself
into as I found myself becoming more attracted to him, but I thought I
could deal with it. My parents were separated for years on end because of
my father's job in Australia, and they're the ideal couple. With that sort
of comfort, I jumped head first into this relationship.
I walked into the kitchen, running my hand over the cool smooth countertop as I stared at the kitchen phone. "Damnit, for my own sanity, ring damn you." I growled to the telephone. But it never rang. I'm too proud to call him myself, and which phone would I call anyways? His hotel phone, his cell phone, his work phone? He had so many phones for each of his needs, but obviously not enough because my phone wasn't ringing.
Grabbing an apple to keep me occupied, I tossed it aimlessly as I wandered the home that we shared. Coming from my humble background, it was a mansion, but for him, nothing was too extravagant. He wanted me to have everything and anything I wanted to keep me occupied and happy while he was away. Everything was meant to keep me from pondering our relationship, how it was becoming non-existent. I was realizing that now. Sitting down on the leather couch in our living room, I gazed at all the framed pictures, illuminated by the moonlight streaking in through the windows. He looked so happy, so at peace in those pictures. I hate that he is torn away from me but I love knowing that he's happy and is doing what he loves. I'm beginning to realize that it's the wrestling that makes me happy, and not me. That made me feel uneasy. On a whim, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to check for any voice messages. None. Sighing, hearing my voice echo in the huge house, I placed my cell phone on the table in front of me and grabbed a plush pillow.
Realizing that the phone would never ring, I started to revel in my own self-demeaning thoughts. I began to feel out of place in my own home, in our home. I was simply an extension of his emotions. I felt like a replacement for his love of his job when he was home. I was nothing more than something for him to love when he was away from his job. Now I loved him, I loved everything about him. The simple way he stared in my eyes as if he was looking directly into my soul, the way that he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. The way his fingers touched my skin, the way his painted fingernails contrasted my pale complexion, the way he clutched me when he slept. But how long had it been since I'd experienced any of that? A month, maybe a month and a half? The lonely days and nights in this house blended together. Days, weeks, without the phone ringing or him stumbling through the door with bags at 4 am. God I missed that. I missed him crawling into bed, trying not to wake me. I missed everything about him. But mostly, I just missed him.
Tears started to press against my eyelids and burn my eyes. I clutched the pillow against my chest, as if it would bring him back. It was such a conflict of emotions; I'm crying because I miss him and I'm crying because I'm angry at him. I'm crying because I'm alone, I'm crying because he left me alone. I'm crying because I'm not making him happy, I'm crying because he's not making me happy. I'm crying because I can't have him, I'm crying because I'm unsure if I even want him. I'm crying because a part of my life isn't here, I'm crying because I don't think I'm a part of his life anymore. I'm crying because—well because I'm crying.
The tears rolled freely down my face and cascaded onto the pillow, creating little pools of emotion. Realizing that no one would come to comfort me, or even hear me cry made me cry harder. Staring at his replica title belt and the pictures all around me, I cried harder. What was on the walls was his life, not me. I would never be his only love. I would be a secondary, a back-up, something to shield him from the horrors when it became too much for him to bear. For three years I've waiting patiently for him, kept the house a home for him to come home to, taped all his matches, called him to no end. It's because I love him. I love him more than anything. But he doesn't feel the same way. He loves me more than anything that isn't wrestling.
Crying until I had no more tears, I sat in the darkness with nothing more than my own emotions. Feeling so alone, I closed my eyes and stared into the darkness of my mind. The intense emotions had made my body tired, and as I drifted to sleep on the couch, clutching my tear soaked pillow, my cell phone rang. Unaware of the rings of the phone, I became enveloped inside my own dreams as he left a voice mail on my phone: "Baby, it's Matt. I love you so much and I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier. I'm on my way home right now. I'll see you in the morning. I love you with all my heart."
I walked into the kitchen, running my hand over the cool smooth countertop as I stared at the kitchen phone. "Damnit, for my own sanity, ring damn you." I growled to the telephone. But it never rang. I'm too proud to call him myself, and which phone would I call anyways? His hotel phone, his cell phone, his work phone? He had so many phones for each of his needs, but obviously not enough because my phone wasn't ringing.
Grabbing an apple to keep me occupied, I tossed it aimlessly as I wandered the home that we shared. Coming from my humble background, it was a mansion, but for him, nothing was too extravagant. He wanted me to have everything and anything I wanted to keep me occupied and happy while he was away. Everything was meant to keep me from pondering our relationship, how it was becoming non-existent. I was realizing that now. Sitting down on the leather couch in our living room, I gazed at all the framed pictures, illuminated by the moonlight streaking in through the windows. He looked so happy, so at peace in those pictures. I hate that he is torn away from me but I love knowing that he's happy and is doing what he loves. I'm beginning to realize that it's the wrestling that makes me happy, and not me. That made me feel uneasy. On a whim, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to check for any voice messages. None. Sighing, hearing my voice echo in the huge house, I placed my cell phone on the table in front of me and grabbed a plush pillow.
Realizing that the phone would never ring, I started to revel in my own self-demeaning thoughts. I began to feel out of place in my own home, in our home. I was simply an extension of his emotions. I felt like a replacement for his love of his job when he was home. I was nothing more than something for him to love when he was away from his job. Now I loved him, I loved everything about him. The simple way he stared in my eyes as if he was looking directly into my soul, the way that he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. The way his fingers touched my skin, the way his painted fingernails contrasted my pale complexion, the way he clutched me when he slept. But how long had it been since I'd experienced any of that? A month, maybe a month and a half? The lonely days and nights in this house blended together. Days, weeks, without the phone ringing or him stumbling through the door with bags at 4 am. God I missed that. I missed him crawling into bed, trying not to wake me. I missed everything about him. But mostly, I just missed him.
Tears started to press against my eyelids and burn my eyes. I clutched the pillow against my chest, as if it would bring him back. It was such a conflict of emotions; I'm crying because I miss him and I'm crying because I'm angry at him. I'm crying because I'm alone, I'm crying because he left me alone. I'm crying because I'm not making him happy, I'm crying because he's not making me happy. I'm crying because I can't have him, I'm crying because I'm unsure if I even want him. I'm crying because a part of my life isn't here, I'm crying because I don't think I'm a part of his life anymore. I'm crying because—well because I'm crying.
The tears rolled freely down my face and cascaded onto the pillow, creating little pools of emotion. Realizing that no one would come to comfort me, or even hear me cry made me cry harder. Staring at his replica title belt and the pictures all around me, I cried harder. What was on the walls was his life, not me. I would never be his only love. I would be a secondary, a back-up, something to shield him from the horrors when it became too much for him to bear. For three years I've waiting patiently for him, kept the house a home for him to come home to, taped all his matches, called him to no end. It's because I love him. I love him more than anything. But he doesn't feel the same way. He loves me more than anything that isn't wrestling.
Crying until I had no more tears, I sat in the darkness with nothing more than my own emotions. Feeling so alone, I closed my eyes and stared into the darkness of my mind. The intense emotions had made my body tired, and as I drifted to sleep on the couch, clutching my tear soaked pillow, my cell phone rang. Unaware of the rings of the phone, I became enveloped inside my own dreams as he left a voice mail on my phone: "Baby, it's Matt. I love you so much and I'm sorry I couldn't call earlier. I'm on my way home right now. I'll see you in the morning. I love you with all my heart."