Love or Hate? Short Story

Whilst your head is turned, I’m looking at you with what I hope is absolute and pure contempt.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

You’re talking about some job you’ve worked on.

Again.

I’ve heard this story only about fifty million times. Have you been to the Old House? Yes, I worked on it and it’s an amazing place. The lady that owns it must be worth a fortune… blah, blah, blah.

I hate the way you look, I hate the way you’re selfish, I hate the way you treat me like a second class citizen in your life. I don’t care you tell me that you’re not a metrosexual and how you were never romantic. I hate it how you expect things that are not given freely. I hate the way you tell me that you were always like this and I can’t change you. I don’t want to change you. I want you to change you.

Nine years ago – what was I thinking? Was I mad? Was I stupid? Maybe I was just young but you seemed like a different person then. You were exciting, you looked into my eyes as we kissed and you used to always touch me up as I did the dishes. What’s changed? What’s wrong? Complacency?  Comfortable? Love turning slowly to hate? I don’t know, all I know is that somewhere along the line the spark died out.

So what now? Well, we’ll divide our things right down the middle and we’ll go our separate ways. You will probably stay where you are and keep on doing the things you have and always will do. Watch the football, go to old-man pubs with your mates, leer at girls in the street now you know I won’t be looking. Buy stupid novelty things like musical beer glasses or wall plaques of plastic fish that dance and sing. Listen to thrash metal, polish your car, not wash up after yourself and dump everything in the washing machine on a 60 degree wash.

Me? I will move down to London, get a better job. Think about adopting a baby since I’ve wasted my best years with you. Yes, I will think about adoption…. or maybe not. Maybe I’ll get another kitten. I’ll go on summer holidays and bask in the sun, I’ll go on city breaks and try and order food in the local language. I will cook all the foods you were too fussy and narrow minded to try, I may even become vegetarian! Either way, I have loads of things planned for myself and none of them include you.

You are on your laptop, furiously clicking away. Probably surfing for porn or cars or trainers. Whatever. I hate the way you criticise, your laptop is noisy, your car brakes are too sharp, your TV viewing habits are crap, your shoes are too high and you look like a velocerapta, you baby the cat, this food tastes funny, you forgot my apple for lunch, this tea is cold. I hate it and now I hate you.

Now you’re snoring. Suck in breath, grunt, suck out breath, grunt. God, was it always like this? Maybe it’s 9 years of sleepless nights that has made me this way. Maybe it’s the insomnia that has driven me insane.

It wasn’t always like this, you must know it to. Remember the time in Prague, where the gang of youths checked us up and down and we feared for our lives – only to realise they were checking out our Nikes. Remember the time when our hair froze in the Blue lagoon in Iceland or the time we went for dinner at Nobu? Do you also remember the day you took me for your wife and we made the vows of fidelity and loyalty and our undying love.  What about the time in New York where we underestimated the cold at Christmas time and almost froze to death wandering in Central Park? Or the time we ended up at the casino and you won so much money I had to stuff it in my bra? Yes, it wasn’t all bad.

I’ve just been stuck in traffic on the way home, a fifteen minute journey taking almost an hour. My boss has done nothing but criticise my work, I had a ladder in my tights from half nine and I managed to spill coffee over my keyboard. To top it all, the battery on my ipod conked out and since the button on my car stereo doesn’t work I‘ve listened to nothing but staticcy Radio 2 all the way home.

Walking through the door, I’m struck by unmistakable smell of spag bol, as I collapse on the sofa and take my shoes off, you come in. “Hard Day, dear?” you say almost sarcastically before disappearing off into the kitchen. I’m scowling, and mustering my look of hatred when you come back in. Holding a huge glass of heaven, if heaven was red wine. “Dinner in five” you say, smiling, “and then you can tell me about your day”.

And suddenly, I love you, I love you, I love you.