Warning contains adult language and themes.
Chapter 1
Today should be special. Why? Because it’s my wedding anniversary, that’s why.I should be having flowers sent to me, by my adoring husband. He should be telling me how beautiful I am, and how lucky he is that I am his gorgeous wife. The reality is there are not any flowers. No adoring husband. And I’m not beautiful. I sigh deeply. Do you ever feel that, somehow you’ve lost your way? I do.
I’m 35 and I should be happily married with children. Or single, having endless gorgeous men wanting to have hot sex with me. As if. Who the hell would want sex with me? Absolutely nobody, that’s who, what’s hot sex anyway? I was a virgin before I met Bill. Which means I have only ever had sex with one man? Only ever had one cock inside me. Oh well, some of us do have standards you know. Or Maybe Bill’s right, I’m just bloody boring.
I’m still in my dressing gown, which is not looking too good. I put my hands on my hair – yuck nasty! It feels greasy and lank. Actually, I don’t smell too good either. I realise how unkempt I am. What has happened to me? I remember how I loved to have a long soak in the bath, and then lavishly cover myself with body lotion all over. My body would feel silky and smooth. I know I took pride in my appearance and looked after myself then. It’s a strange feeling because I have not thought about how I look for a long time. I’m unable to remember the last time I put make-up on. Or even looked in the mirror. I mean really looked in the mirror. I try to focus, and concentrate on doing something positive, yes, I know I will have a shower.
The hot water feels good as it cascades over my body. I wash my body and hair.
As I get out of the shower, I grab a large towel quickly (avoiding looking at my body in the mirror) and start to dry my body, I put a towel around my hair. And to my surprise, I suddenly have an attack of bravery, or maybe foolishness? I drop my towel on the floor. I stand in front of the full mirror and take a critical look at my naked body. I know, I just have to do this. Who is this stranger in the mirror? I see a sad, fat, ugly woman, looking back at me, who I don’t recognise. I turn away from the mirror and take the towel off my head, dry it off quickly with a hair dryer. I rummage round, and finally find a brush and start to tidy my extremely messy hair. My god, when was the last time I brushed it? I turn and face the mirror again. I stare hard at my reflection, focusing on my body. The first thing I notice is my tummy, not that it’s ever been flat, it’s always been rounded; now I’m just fat. No, not just fat, I’m nearly obese. Shit. I look at my arms, lifting one up, definitely put weight on them. I look back at the mirror and focus on my breasts. Quite large, very wobbly, and not firm at all. A picture of an old milking cow, with large, udders swinging from side to side, nearly touching the ground fills my head. Poor cow, I think. But which cow do I mean? My breasts look sad, and neglected. Desperate for some tender loving care. Unable to face them any longer, I turn and look at my bottom, in the mirror BIG mistake, bloody hell. How big is that! Beware, wide load approaching, fat girl on the loose! I look at my thighs, which are, well, bloody awful. Fat, flabby, and so disgusting.
I take a closer look at my legs, oh my God they are sooo hairy. I run my hand over one leg. Yuck, that feels gross. I look at my armpits and feel disgusted. I have more hair under my arms than on a grizzly bear’s arse! Apart from the hairs, my legs are a little on the big side but are quite long, although to be honest it’s difficult to tell with all the hairs.
I don’t want to, but it has got to be done, I need to get up close and personal to the mirror and really look at my face. I move in closer and study my face, which I don’t think I have looked at properly for a couple of years at least. I guess this is what depression does for you. The first thing that gets my attention are my eyes. They are dull, lifeless, expressionless. Shit! What happened? My eyes were my best feature – everyone told me how lovely my hazel eyes were, honest they did, even the colour appears faded and inconsequential. If eyes really are the windows to your soul, then I’m truly stuffed.
My skin is dull, and pretty similar to the colour of a person recently deceased. My hair is still quite dark but has more than its fair share of grey! Shit! I don’t have grey hair. Yes, I do. My hair is lifeless, limp and badly needs a cut. My eyebrows are bushy and unkempt. My lips are actually not too bad. I try to smile, but I do not appear to have the ability. I look awful, much older than I should. I can’t believe I’m such a mess. I know I have neglected my appearance, I feel ashamed, there’s no excuse. All of a sudden, it’s all too much and I break down and cry. I seem to have lost all my energy.
I’m still sitting crying, naked, on the bathroom floor when I hear the front door slam. Oh, no. What time is it? It must be Bill, home from work. I must have sat here for hours, and I’m still not dressed. I hear Bill sharply shout my name. I stand up and quickly rinse my face. I put on my towelling robe and open the en-suite door tentatively. Bill is just coming into the bedroom. He looks at me, and I recognise the disgust on his face.
‘Why aren’t you dressed,’ he asks impatiently.
Without waiting for an answer, he continues in an accusing voice.
‘Why isn’t my bloody dinner ready?’
My eyes avoid his, as I stare down at the carpet, I find my voice.
‘I don’t feel well; I’ve been in bed all day.’ I mutter, as I clutch my tummy and quietly add, ‘Feel sick.’
The curtains are still drawn. I keep my head down, walk across to the bed, and quickly get into it, pulling the covers up to my chin.
Bill comes across to the bed, looks down at me, and manages to make me feel even worse about myself. He has a look of contempt on his face.
‘You never make the bloody dinner, you’re always in bed feeling sick. I’ve been working all day. What the hell have you done? Nothing as usual, I suppose. You lazy cow.’ His eyes glare into mine. I turn away, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. I wish he would to nice to me.
He is now getting clothes out of the wardrobe.
‘Do you know what day it is?’ I ask in a quiet voice.
‘Yes. I’d be surprised if you did though,’ he answers sarcastically.
‘I mean special day, our anniversary.’ I reply. Why am I even asking?
Bill just couldn’t care less; he looks bored of the conversation.
‘Is it?’ He replies. There’s quite a long pause. I know he has lost all interest, and wants to be somewhere else.
He glances at me quickly, and continues.
‘OK I’m going out to eat again.’ He starts to walk towards the door.
‘Wait’ I say quite sharply. I’m shocked to hear my own voice.
‘What.’ Bill asks between clenched teeth. He can’t even be arsed to turn around and face me.
‘Why do you treat me like this?’ I ask quietly. He turns and looks straight at me. Oh no, his eyes say it all. He really hates me.
‘Like what? Do you really have to ask? My god, you look so disgusting. Who would want to celebrate being with you?’
‘It's not my fault, it’s yours.’ I say quietly
‘My fault, how the hell is it my fault? I gave you a good life. You had everything you wanted. Look what happened? You turn into a fat, neurotic bitch. ’
All I wanted was love and respect. Before I can answer, he has gone, I hear him running down the stairs, to freedom, away from the mad, fat woman. So here I am on my own again, without anyone to talk to, there must be somebody? I seem to have lost all my friends. I think of my best friend Wendy, who moved away and we lost touch with each other. I hear the door bang loudly.
Sometime in the night, I wake. I sit up in bed and listen. I can hear voices coming from downstairs. I get out of bed and creep quietly down the stairs. I can hear Bill’s voice. I expect he is talking to somebody on the phone. I’m just about to turn and go back upstairs when I hear another voice. It’s a female. I stand with my head close to the door. They are now both laughing. I’m unable to resist. Quietly, I open the door. Bill has his back to me; he has a drink in his hand and appears to be in an exceedingly good mood. It’s hard to recognise him really. Opposite him sits a woman. I stare at her, taking in all her perfection. She is engrossed in conversation, captivated by my husband’s charm. I see not only the intimate eye contact but also sheer lust and admiration in her eyes. I continue into the room. I can now see his expression, and the lust she radiates is reflected in Bill’s face. I stare once again at this woman in my house with my husband. I’m also aware that Bill never looks at me in that way. To be honest he never really looks at me at all. Suddenly the woman becomes aware of my presence. I expect intuition tells her she is being scrutinised. Her face turns to look at me. Her expression changes, the smile disappears, and is replaced by a look of sheer panic as she looks me up and down. Then a light appears, as if to have been switched on.
‘Oh, of course, you must be Zeta?’ Her expression has now changed, and there is a trace of sympathy in her eyes. But, for me, or Bill?
Bill turns, his face shocked, embarrassed to see me. Why? I do live here. I am his wife. His expression soon changes to loathing. He appears to have the power to make me feel like I am too ugly and useless to be seen by anybody. I want to be invisible, to disappear, or at least to run away and hide, but my legs are firmly rooted to the spot. I don’t want to feel this hurt and humiliation I’m feeling right now.
In an irritated voice and eyes that are as cold as ice, Bill is asking me, ‘What on earth have you been doing? Shit, you look worse than ever. A right bloody disaster’
I know I should say something but I don’t. I can’t. I just stand there in a trance. Like some mad woman. There are a few seconds silence. The woman appears embarrassed, and eventually stands up.
I take a good look at her. She is probably only about twenty, if that. Wow. Her legs are long and slim, and she has shiny blonde hair to her shoulders. She really is gorgeous. I know I’m staring, and I can tell she feels awkward.
‘I’m Shelly. I’m just giving your, erm,’ Shelly hesitates, ‘Bill, a lift home. Right, I’d best be going.’ She quickly makes her exit and is through the front door in record time. I wonder if she is that quick at everything. That quick to take her clothes off.
Bill follows her outside, and returns a couple of minutes later. I am still standing in the same place.
‘Well. Hope you’re satisfied. You’ve ruined my evening. What the hell is the matter with you?’ asks Bill, who is now standing facing me, with his hands on his hips, looking even angrier. Isn’t me who should be angry?
‘Why did you bring that woman home?’ I’m stunned. Did I just say that?
‘What? How dare you ask me questions.’ Bill is trying to intimidate me.
‘I’m your wife. Have the decency to show me some respect.’ I reply bravely.
‘How could I respect somebody who looks at like you? You’re lucky I let you stay here, in my house. You should be grateful to me for taking care of you’
‘Taking care of me? You must be having a laugh. You never talk to me, show me any affection, in fact you don’t even look at me.’ I can feel the tears welling up inside me. Why am I so bloody weak?
Bill shakes his head. ‘You look a real mess’ that expression of disgust is on his face again. He pushes past me. Something deep inside me has been unleashed. How dare he talk to me like that. All at once I feel as mad as hell. I Turn and shout at him. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ My hands are shaking, actually, my whole body is. I feel so angry.
The shit head just carries on walking. I grab a cushion, and throw it at him. It catches him on his head. Why a cushion? It should have been a heavy object. Still, at least I did something. He turns round. He is annoyed. ‘I’m talking to you. I said ‘show me some respect’ He takes a few steps towards me. I shudder, as his cold eyes meet mine. ‘Show you what? You re insane. You mean nothing to me. Nothing at all.’
‘I’m your wife, remember, for better or worse…’ Before I finish my sentence.
‘You’re not even a woman. Look at you.’ He glares at me with distaste, as if I’m a pile of pooh on his shag pile.
He continues with the compliments. ‘You make me feel physically sick’
‘Why are you such a nasty sod to me?’ I ask.
‘I’m not, it’s all your fault. Everything is. You’re just fat and lazy. Not to mention bloody embarrassing’ The words hurt. I get the feeling that they were meant to. Who is this man I married?
‘Does that mean you don’t love me any more than?’ I ask with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Yes! Got it in one. I don’t want you near me.’ This time he is out of the room and up the stairs before I can respond. He is just one of those men who has a natural charm with words. What a nasty git.
I walk towards the mirror and look at my reflection. I remember now, after he left I tried putting some make-up on. It looked dreadful and out of date. Then I tried some different outfits on. Oh crap, I must have been overcome with depression and fallen asleep. I’m wearing trousers with the zip down, obviously at least two sizes too small. I have a flowery disgusting blouse on with all the buttons undone, showing my lovely grey bra. I look desperate. I look like I need to be certified. I can understand the swift exit of Miss Shelly the Slut. I guess she thinks I’m mentally unstable and dangerous. How did I get here? Tears are now rolling down my cheeks, as I feel the emptiness inside. I pick up the decanter and pour some brandy into an expensive glass. I take tiny sips as I wipe my eyes. I glance again at my reflection in the mirror, and guess what? I laugh, yes I actually laugh. OK so it’s manic laughter, but it’s a start. I need to get back my self-respect and dignity.I’m surprised to see my glass is empty. I pour myself a large brandy and take two big gulps, and it’s nearly gone. I feel a little flicker of strength and determination inside me to survive, or maybe it’s just the brandy warming my insides; either way I have found a glimmer of hope.
I promise myself, tomorrow I will try to start thinking more positive, and make it the start of something better, much better.
My mind drifts back to my wedding day. Twelve years ago. I can remember feeling so excited as I walked down the aisle. I felt like a beautiful woman. I think of my luxurious white satin wedding gown with tiny pearls that had been intricately sewn on to it. The traditional style hugged my curvy figure, pulling it all in at the waist, just showing enough cleavage of my generous breasts. I wore my hair piled high on my head, with a tiny crown of small flowers and pearls woven through it.
Just then, my thoughts are well and truly interrupted by a hand grabbing my glass.
‘How dare you drink my brandy. It’s not to be wasted on you. Go to bloody bed. Oh, and sleep in the spare room.’ Bill’s grumpy voice bellows in my ears. He walks off quickly taking the decanter and glass with him.
‘No! I shout. The brandy has given me courage. ‘I will not. You sleep in the spare room. Oh and by the way, you’re not that special, in fact, you’re the meanest git ever. I can do better than you.’ I say the last sentence quietly, more to myself. Surprised, I hear Bill reply. ‘Prove it’ His tone full of sarcasm.
‘I will.’ I say positively, as I search for the brandy decanter.
Today should be special. Why? Because it’s my wedding anniversary, that’s why.I should be having flowers sent to me, by my adoring husband. He should be telling me how beautiful I am, and how lucky he is that I am his gorgeous wife. The reality is there are not any flowers. No adoring husband. And I’m not beautiful. I sigh deeply. Do you ever feel that, somehow you’ve lost your way? I do.
I’m 35 and I should be happily married with children. Or single, having endless gorgeous men wanting to have hot sex with me. As if. Who the hell would want sex with me? Absolutely nobody, that’s who, what’s hot sex anyway? I was a virgin before I met Bill. Which means I have only ever had sex with one man? Only ever had one cock inside me. Oh well, some of us do have standards you know. Or Maybe Bill’s right, I’m just bloody boring.
I’m still in my dressing gown, which is not looking too good. I put my hands on my hair – yuck nasty! It feels greasy and lank. Actually, I don’t smell too good either. I realise how unkempt I am. What has happened to me? I remember how I loved to have a long soak in the bath, and then lavishly cover myself with body lotion all over. My body would feel silky and smooth. I know I took pride in my appearance and looked after myself then. It’s a strange feeling because I have not thought about how I look for a long time. I’m unable to remember the last time I put make-up on. Or even looked in the mirror. I mean really looked in the mirror. I try to focus, and concentrate on doing something positive, yes, I know I will have a shower.
The hot water feels good as it cascades over my body. I wash my body and hair.
As I get out of the shower, I grab a large towel quickly (avoiding looking at my body in the mirror) and start to dry my body, I put a towel around my hair. And to my surprise, I suddenly have an attack of bravery, or maybe foolishness? I drop my towel on the floor. I stand in front of the full mirror and take a critical look at my naked body. I know, I just have to do this. Who is this stranger in the mirror? I see a sad, fat, ugly woman, looking back at me, who I don’t recognise. I turn away from the mirror and take the towel off my head, dry it off quickly with a hair dryer. I rummage round, and finally find a brush and start to tidy my extremely messy hair. My god, when was the last time I brushed it? I turn and face the mirror again. I stare hard at my reflection, focusing on my body. The first thing I notice is my tummy, not that it’s ever been flat, it’s always been rounded; now I’m just fat. No, not just fat, I’m nearly obese. Shit. I look at my arms, lifting one up, definitely put weight on them. I look back at the mirror and focus on my breasts. Quite large, very wobbly, and not firm at all. A picture of an old milking cow, with large, udders swinging from side to side, nearly touching the ground fills my head. Poor cow, I think. But which cow do I mean? My breasts look sad, and neglected. Desperate for some tender loving care. Unable to face them any longer, I turn and look at my bottom, in the mirror BIG mistake, bloody hell. How big is that! Beware, wide load approaching, fat girl on the loose! I look at my thighs, which are, well, bloody awful. Fat, flabby, and so disgusting.
I take a closer look at my legs, oh my God they are sooo hairy. I run my hand over one leg. Yuck, that feels gross. I look at my armpits and feel disgusted. I have more hair under my arms than on a grizzly bear’s arse! Apart from the hairs, my legs are a little on the big side but are quite long, although to be honest it’s difficult to tell with all the hairs.
I don’t want to, but it has got to be done, I need to get up close and personal to the mirror and really look at my face. I move in closer and study my face, which I don’t think I have looked at properly for a couple of years at least. I guess this is what depression does for you. The first thing that gets my attention are my eyes. They are dull, lifeless, expressionless. Shit! What happened? My eyes were my best feature – everyone told me how lovely my hazel eyes were, honest they did, even the colour appears faded and inconsequential. If eyes really are the windows to your soul, then I’m truly stuffed.
My skin is dull, and pretty similar to the colour of a person recently deceased. My hair is still quite dark but has more than its fair share of grey! Shit! I don’t have grey hair. Yes, I do. My hair is lifeless, limp and badly needs a cut. My eyebrows are bushy and unkempt. My lips are actually not too bad. I try to smile, but I do not appear to have the ability. I look awful, much older than I should. I can’t believe I’m such a mess. I know I have neglected my appearance, I feel ashamed, there’s no excuse. All of a sudden, it’s all too much and I break down and cry. I seem to have lost all my energy.
I’m still sitting crying, naked, on the bathroom floor when I hear the front door slam. Oh, no. What time is it? It must be Bill, home from work. I must have sat here for hours, and I’m still not dressed. I hear Bill sharply shout my name. I stand up and quickly rinse my face. I put on my towelling robe and open the en-suite door tentatively. Bill is just coming into the bedroom. He looks at me, and I recognise the disgust on his face.
‘Why aren’t you dressed,’ he asks impatiently.
Without waiting for an answer, he continues in an accusing voice.
‘Why isn’t my bloody dinner ready?’
My eyes avoid his, as I stare down at the carpet, I find my voice.
‘I don’t feel well; I’ve been in bed all day.’ I mutter, as I clutch my tummy and quietly add, ‘Feel sick.’
The curtains are still drawn. I keep my head down, walk across to the bed, and quickly get into it, pulling the covers up to my chin.
Bill comes across to the bed, looks down at me, and manages to make me feel even worse about myself. He has a look of contempt on his face.
‘You never make the bloody dinner, you’re always in bed feeling sick. I’ve been working all day. What the hell have you done? Nothing as usual, I suppose. You lazy cow.’ His eyes glare into mine. I turn away, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. I wish he would to nice to me.
He is now getting clothes out of the wardrobe.
‘Do you know what day it is?’ I ask in a quiet voice.
‘Yes. I’d be surprised if you did though,’ he answers sarcastically.
‘I mean special day, our anniversary.’ I reply. Why am I even asking?
Bill just couldn’t care less; he looks bored of the conversation.
‘Is it?’ He replies. There’s quite a long pause. I know he has lost all interest, and wants to be somewhere else.
He glances at me quickly, and continues.
‘OK I’m going out to eat again.’ He starts to walk towards the door.
‘Wait’ I say quite sharply. I’m shocked to hear my own voice.
‘What.’ Bill asks between clenched teeth. He can’t even be arsed to turn around and face me.
‘Why do you treat me like this?’ I ask quietly. He turns and looks straight at me. Oh no, his eyes say it all. He really hates me.
‘Like what? Do you really have to ask? My god, you look so disgusting. Who would want to celebrate being with you?’
‘It's not my fault, it’s yours.’ I say quietly
‘My fault, how the hell is it my fault? I gave you a good life. You had everything you wanted. Look what happened? You turn into a fat, neurotic bitch. ’
All I wanted was love and respect. Before I can answer, he has gone, I hear him running down the stairs, to freedom, away from the mad, fat woman. So here I am on my own again, without anyone to talk to, there must be somebody? I seem to have lost all my friends. I think of my best friend Wendy, who moved away and we lost touch with each other. I hear the door bang loudly.
Sometime in the night, I wake. I sit up in bed and listen. I can hear voices coming from downstairs. I get out of bed and creep quietly down the stairs. I can hear Bill’s voice. I expect he is talking to somebody on the phone. I’m just about to turn and go back upstairs when I hear another voice. It’s a female. I stand with my head close to the door. They are now both laughing. I’m unable to resist. Quietly, I open the door. Bill has his back to me; he has a drink in his hand and appears to be in an exceedingly good mood. It’s hard to recognise him really. Opposite him sits a woman. I stare at her, taking in all her perfection. She is engrossed in conversation, captivated by my husband’s charm. I see not only the intimate eye contact but also sheer lust and admiration in her eyes. I continue into the room. I can now see his expression, and the lust she radiates is reflected in Bill’s face. I stare once again at this woman in my house with my husband. I’m also aware that Bill never looks at me in that way. To be honest he never really looks at me at all. Suddenly the woman becomes aware of my presence. I expect intuition tells her she is being scrutinised. Her face turns to look at me. Her expression changes, the smile disappears, and is replaced by a look of sheer panic as she looks me up and down. Then a light appears, as if to have been switched on.
‘Oh, of course, you must be Zeta?’ Her expression has now changed, and there is a trace of sympathy in her eyes. But, for me, or Bill?
Bill turns, his face shocked, embarrassed to see me. Why? I do live here. I am his wife. His expression soon changes to loathing. He appears to have the power to make me feel like I am too ugly and useless to be seen by anybody. I want to be invisible, to disappear, or at least to run away and hide, but my legs are firmly rooted to the spot. I don’t want to feel this hurt and humiliation I’m feeling right now.
In an irritated voice and eyes that are as cold as ice, Bill is asking me, ‘What on earth have you been doing? Shit, you look worse than ever. A right bloody disaster’
I know I should say something but I don’t. I can’t. I just stand there in a trance. Like some mad woman. There are a few seconds silence. The woman appears embarrassed, and eventually stands up.
I take a good look at her. She is probably only about twenty, if that. Wow. Her legs are long and slim, and she has shiny blonde hair to her shoulders. She really is gorgeous. I know I’m staring, and I can tell she feels awkward.
‘I’m Shelly. I’m just giving your, erm,’ Shelly hesitates, ‘Bill, a lift home. Right, I’d best be going.’ She quickly makes her exit and is through the front door in record time. I wonder if she is that quick at everything. That quick to take her clothes off.
Bill follows her outside, and returns a couple of minutes later. I am still standing in the same place.
‘Well. Hope you’re satisfied. You’ve ruined my evening. What the hell is the matter with you?’ asks Bill, who is now standing facing me, with his hands on his hips, looking even angrier. Isn’t me who should be angry?
‘Why did you bring that woman home?’ I’m stunned. Did I just say that?
‘What? How dare you ask me questions.’ Bill is trying to intimidate me.
‘I’m your wife. Have the decency to show me some respect.’ I reply bravely.
‘How could I respect somebody who looks at like you? You’re lucky I let you stay here, in my house. You should be grateful to me for taking care of you’
‘Taking care of me? You must be having a laugh. You never talk to me, show me any affection, in fact you don’t even look at me.’ I can feel the tears welling up inside me. Why am I so bloody weak?
Bill shakes his head. ‘You look a real mess’ that expression of disgust is on his face again. He pushes past me. Something deep inside me has been unleashed. How dare he talk to me like that. All at once I feel as mad as hell. I Turn and shout at him. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ My hands are shaking, actually, my whole body is. I feel so angry.
The shit head just carries on walking. I grab a cushion, and throw it at him. It catches him on his head. Why a cushion? It should have been a heavy object. Still, at least I did something. He turns round. He is annoyed. ‘I’m talking to you. I said ‘show me some respect’ He takes a few steps towards me. I shudder, as his cold eyes meet mine. ‘Show you what? You re insane. You mean nothing to me. Nothing at all.’
‘I’m your wife, remember, for better or worse…’ Before I finish my sentence.
‘You’re not even a woman. Look at you.’ He glares at me with distaste, as if I’m a pile of pooh on his shag pile.
He continues with the compliments. ‘You make me feel physically sick’
‘Why are you such a nasty sod to me?’ I ask.
‘I’m not, it’s all your fault. Everything is. You’re just fat and lazy. Not to mention bloody embarrassing’ The words hurt. I get the feeling that they were meant to. Who is this man I married?
‘Does that mean you don’t love me any more than?’ I ask with a hint of sarcasm.
‘Yes! Got it in one. I don’t want you near me.’ This time he is out of the room and up the stairs before I can respond. He is just one of those men who has a natural charm with words. What a nasty git.
I walk towards the mirror and look at my reflection. I remember now, after he left I tried putting some make-up on. It looked dreadful and out of date. Then I tried some different outfits on. Oh crap, I must have been overcome with depression and fallen asleep. I’m wearing trousers with the zip down, obviously at least two sizes too small. I have a flowery disgusting blouse on with all the buttons undone, showing my lovely grey bra. I look desperate. I look like I need to be certified. I can understand the swift exit of Miss Shelly the Slut. I guess she thinks I’m mentally unstable and dangerous. How did I get here? Tears are now rolling down my cheeks, as I feel the emptiness inside. I pick up the decanter and pour some brandy into an expensive glass. I take tiny sips as I wipe my eyes. I glance again at my reflection in the mirror, and guess what? I laugh, yes I actually laugh. OK so it’s manic laughter, but it’s a start. I need to get back my self-respect and dignity.I’m surprised to see my glass is empty. I pour myself a large brandy and take two big gulps, and it’s nearly gone. I feel a little flicker of strength and determination inside me to survive, or maybe it’s just the brandy warming my insides; either way I have found a glimmer of hope.
I promise myself, tomorrow I will try to start thinking more positive, and make it the start of something better, much better.
My mind drifts back to my wedding day. Twelve years ago. I can remember feeling so excited as I walked down the aisle. I felt like a beautiful woman. I think of my luxurious white satin wedding gown with tiny pearls that had been intricately sewn on to it. The traditional style hugged my curvy figure, pulling it all in at the waist, just showing enough cleavage of my generous breasts. I wore my hair piled high on my head, with a tiny crown of small flowers and pearls woven through it.
Just then, my thoughts are well and truly interrupted by a hand grabbing my glass.
‘How dare you drink my brandy. It’s not to be wasted on you. Go to bloody bed. Oh, and sleep in the spare room.’ Bill’s grumpy voice bellows in my ears. He walks off quickly taking the decanter and glass with him.
‘No! I shout. The brandy has given me courage. ‘I will not. You sleep in the spare room. Oh and by the way, you’re not that special, in fact, you’re the meanest git ever. I can do better than you.’ I say the last sentence quietly, more to myself. Surprised, I hear Bill reply. ‘Prove it’ His tone full of sarcasm.
‘I will.’ I say positively, as I search for the brandy decanter.