Fake Conversations N° 2

In this fake conversation, we get a better look at the desire to heal and connect. I actually say little to nothing in this mercurial fantasy I have - it may even be a stretch to call it a fantasy. It’s a clearing of tension, it’s a saying what is really needed, it is an opportunity for relief and to move past the judgement that can become poison to us when held in too tight, for too long.

The Original Scenario:

Without revealing too much of a story that isn’t mine to fully tell but that I am a part of nonetheless, we start off with the person I’m dating and his ex. The long and short of it is that we fell in love while they were falling out of their relationship, and while everything was kept respectful and no timelines overlapped there is/was still a lot of tension between her and myself. This is completely understandable - and while I was not the reason for the demise of their story, I did play a part in showing the person I’m now with the calibre of connection that is possible. This is what he showed me as well, while I was still healing from my own very fresh long-term-relationship ending. All of it blindsided all of us. None of us could have seen it coming - nor would we have wanted to honestly.

So, they own an apartment together. It’s been months of her living there, him paying for that place and a new place, giving her the time she needs to work with him to figure out how they want to move forward with this. It is not an easy feat under normal circumstances. It’s been 5 months since he moved out, and is now reaching the point where he is needing to not be in limbo. Part of his solution was moving back into the apartment, in his own room as she has yet to work with him to find a solution whether it be selling the place, either of them taking over it, the financial responsibilities etc.

She also has a new boyfriend; and this notion of my current partner and his past partner living under the same roof together -knowing there will likely be times I am there, that we will inevitably cross paths eventually, has me reeling about the potential communications - or lack there of. I think it would be accurate enough to say I have some sort of hero/healer complex in my life and feel good when people need me or I can help them - and this is one of the very bizarre stories I’ve made up to cope with my own anxieties (and to recognize them as well). There is a lot of my own fears portrayed in this, giving myself a space to consider how I would want to respond if the worst things I think about myself were told to me by someone else and who I would really want to be in that situation.

The Story I Have Made Up:

It’s probably summer, and I’m in the corner of the couch in the living room that these two people share. It’s the evening, I have a glass of wine and am reading while my partner is doing something. Maybe he is cooking, or has run out to get an ingredient, or is on the balcony talking with someone on the phone. He is around but not directly there. We thought we had the place to ourselves for the night and so I was feeling relaxed and comfortable.

The front door unlocks, opens, closes. I hear keys on a table and the shuffling of shoes coming off. I know it isn’t Clement, and I have my guard down assuming we are alone tonight, curious as to who he invited over. She walks into the living room, not seeing me at first as my position lands in her peripheral vision. She scans the room, the kitchen, seeing that there are people here and things happening. She looks down to her left and sees me reading there - all of this taking less than a couple of second to register.

Neither of us says anything, both shocked by how confronting it is, and as I open my mouth to say something - I don’t know what - she bursts into tears. My eyes widen, I put my book down, and while my instinct is to reach out and touch her I feel this is probably entirely inappropriate right now. I just sit there, with what I hope is a look and feeling of sincere compassion and wait for her to be ready.

“I fucking hate you!”

Okay. I am slightly taken aback but not shocked. This seems to be a perfectly reasonable way to feel. I would maybe hate me too. I would certainly have hard to metabolize feelings about it,

“That’s fair”

She is still crying, but looks at me with a bit more tenderness. I think she wanted to fight originally - there is so much tension built up. There is so much anger, resentment, fear, guilt, shame, worry. So much everything and yet also nothing. But I think she also doesn’t want to fight at all - I actually get the impression that she has been fighting internally with herself for way too long. I can also sense the power dynamic shifting as I remain calm, and I want her to be held in her vulnerability.

“Is there anything you need to say to me? That you want to get off your chest? I can handle it, you can let it out.”

“You are a homewrecker, just a slut who didn’t care at all for what you were doing! And you did know! You knew how to make him fall in love with you, you knew you would be destroying something and you did it anyway! This is our home that we built and bought together and you are just sitting here like this is your couch, like this is your roof, like nothing before you ever even happened!”

My partner, her used to be partner, appears from wherever he was, stunned slightly and ready to intervene but I catch his eye and shake my head. This shouldn’t involve him right now, she needs to release this and to be heard.

“Okay, anything else?”

I say this calmly, with love. I say it with softness, ensuring that she knows I am hearing her and how she is feeling is reasonable and that I meant it when I said I could take it. I don’t need to fight or retaliate. I can imagine what the role reversal would feel like. I can imagine the big feelings and thoughts and never being able to put them where they really need to go.

She doesn’t say anything else, just continues to release and cry.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

I get the tiniest nod out of her, so I get up onto my knees, leaning against the back of the couch and pull her into a big hug.

And I just hold her there. I hold her and I say I’m sorry and I hear you. I put my hand on the back of her head like I would a child and let her soften into it and we stay there for a while.

Eventually she pulls away and I let her go. My current partner, her past partner, comes up with a tissue and offers it to her, holding out his arms if she would like to be held by him. He whispers something in her ear that isn’t any of my business and she squeezes out the last big of a cry and then takes the tissue and goes to wash her face.

When she comes back, we offer her wine and dinner or a cup of tea or for us to leave if she needs the space and she says no, thank you, I’m just going to go to bed I think. And we nod respectfully, compassionately.

She goes to her room, and we stand at the island in the kitchen looking at each other, holding hands, tears in both of our eyes now too.