So, I’m here again, sat alone in the airport with nothing but my bags and my sorrow.
We awoke late, no doubt exhausted from the emotions and poor sleep. But our love making was passionate and intense and beautiful. His throw-away comment afterwards, not so much.
Whilst I can’t deny that I want him all the time – I’ve never felt anything like it – is certainly isn’t all I want ‘every time’.
I remained quiet and snuggled closer. He was soon more relaxed himself. At this point, I attempt to talk, whilst he was so distracted by his game. A cunning strategy, I thought.
I told him that I was truly sorry for my constant tears and that I wasn’t sure myself why I behaved like that. I told him how much I loved him and that the only thing I knew; each time I was scared he didn’t want me. That’s what they all had in common, somehow. He didn’t say much but he listened. I soon hit his limit and, content I’d said the most important things, decided to try to make the best of the rest of the day together before I left.
We stayed in bed a long time, watching things on his phone. At one point, he got up to tell me that he was thinking of going to work. I stayed silent. He went out the room came back within moments and got back in bed. I knew the ice had broken some what when he showed me videos from his YouTube channel of ten years ago, laughing to himself.
The rest of the day passed in relaxing, tears and me desperately trying to combat the pain in my chest and the shaking of my hands.
I packed my bags. We had dinner. Then, we went to his room – no longer mine – and he took me in his arms to kiss and hold me. When I cried, he exclaimed that I wasn’t really leaving him, he would be there on the phone as always. When I told him, “but it’s not this” he looked away, and I swear at this point there was emotion he was trying to hide. My married friend told me her husband only admitted how much he was upset by her leaving years later – how he had hidden it to be strong for her. In reality, he cried and was as upset as her. I can only hope. He may also have been thinking, ‘thank goodness it’s not like this all the time’ but even I doubt that.
And I doubt that because of his behaviour in the airport. Me, thinking just rip the plaster off and I will get going, him being surprised and asking, “you’re going?” The way he looked in my eyes when I finally dragged them to his. The way he grabbed my hand, hidden by our bodies (no pda in this country, remember) when my tears fell yet again. When he gave a quick, lawless kiss and told me he loved me.
So, here I am, sat in the airport. It’s busy, and the light is fading. I’ve actually been able to find a seat and am reluctant to move despite needing to use the restroom.
Don’t think I’m not guilt ridden. I am. Guilty that I wished soo hard that my flight would be cancelled. Guilty that although I miss my children, I would stay longer here if I could (damn you new job). I feel guilty that I cried. I feel guilty that I made his mum cry when I did. I’m guilty that I hurt him.