When it wasn't love E-Book

Elaine Louise

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 416

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A desperate escape from what should have been home. Aged just eighteen, I thought of myself as an adult, grown up. I had to run, put an end to all the years of abuse and neglect I'd suffered at the hands of others. But I was wrong.  It didn't matter how far I ran, what distance I put between myself and the people who'd hurt me.  I had naively thought all the emotional baggage would be left behind with all the belongings I wasn't able to take with me. I thought my own attempts at love would help to heal my heart and past traumas.  I wanted nothing more than to feel good enough.  To be loved, and to be able to give love in return.

Leseprobe

When It

Wasn’t Love

Other titles in the series:

High and Mighty

A Propagation of Lies

When It Wasn’t Love

Elaine Louise

First published in Great Britain in 2024

Copyright © Elaine Louise 2024

ISBN

978-3-9525795-8-9

Elaine Louise has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permissions of the publishers.

Ebook by Falcon Oast Graphic Art Ltd

www.falcon.uk.com

Foreword

For how would we know when love isn’t love; must we first trust in the good, and all we’ve learned to become.

For the love to be love, it takes kind words and much patience, and for that love to grow strong, we need space and good intentions.

To fall deeply in love, we must first face our fears, to open our hearts; for some, it takes years. To fall deeper in love, we mustn’t fall down, for the love we all search for, cannot be found on the ground.

For a love to begin, we need to know where to start; for the love to begin, we must follow our hearts.

1

To What End?

I look up to the sky and know it will rain, but from where it will come, is more difficult to say.

It’s not a question of if, but more of a when, its intensity unknown, I’ll go through it again.

Why does the storm brew, why follow my path, when I look up to the sky, I can feel its wrath.

I’ll keep my head high, and fight through the rain, the dark clouds are coming, the sun gone, but I’ll see it again.

I’ll challenge the storm and dance in its wind, and wait for the rain to wash the pain from within.

I could run from the storm and hide in sheer terror, or I could wait out the storm, I know it won’t last forever.

´

Deep down, I knew it wasn’t love. Though I had no real measure to know exactly what love should look like. I believed that if someone wanted to stay with you, had a physical connection with you, then that’s what love was, and that was enough. That was what I had with Ben. And I was wrong about my decision to stay with him, to try hard to make it work. I still believed that people were capable of change, and that also applied to me. I wanted to change, and I wanted Ben to love me without hurting me. I felt the overwhelming need to be loved, to be wanted, so much so, that was the real reason I stayed.

I was scared to lose him, and at times I was scared to be with him. But at almost nineteen years old, I thought I was grown up and able to make grown-up decisions, and I have to say, sadly, I made a lot of bad choices, especially where he was concerned.

The new house we were moving into was a large, old Victorian house, spread over three floors. We planned to share the rental costs with another couple, similar in age to us, who also worked at the same superstore. We didn’t know them particularly well, but we knew of them, and were in the same predicament of needing to find somewhere quickly that was both available and affordable. Another impulsive decision had been made, and within a few days of co-signing the lease, we moved all our things in.

The house itself was on a main road, a few extra miles away from the superstore, and opposite a busy pub that hosted either live bands or karaoke evenings at least three times a week. I didn’t like the house as much as I’d liked our previous one. It was old, with dirty, musty smelling carpets. The kitchen was very small, and there wasn’t enough space if both couples wanted to cook at the same time, and a clear rota had to be devised. The house, for as large as it was, had only one small bathroom, and a downstairs toilet; this wouldn’t normally be a problem, had the couple we were renting with not enjoyed long daily soaks in the bath.

I wasn’t comfortable there, and I didn’t have anything in common with this couple. Conversations were awkward and quite stilted, and they made me feel even more self-conscious and anxious around them. Ben also wasn’t a big fan of them, and they couldn’t hide the fact they didn’t like him. He often laughed and said it was because they worked in I.T, and that their base language was different to ours, so I put their behaviour down to that, following Ben’s lead and keeping out of each other’s way, but I didn’t realise it was the fact that it was an old house with thin walls.

Aside from the stress of yet another house move, my back had healed and my relationship with Ben seemed better than ever. He was attentive, to the point it almost became suffocating; another extreme side I was learning about him. I put my thoughts to one side and wanted to focus on the limited evenings we had alone together, and the wonderful dinners he continued to cook for us, but it felt like I was living with a ticking time bomb. Every moment with him I could distinctly hear the ticks and tocks, but never had any clue when he would explode, when my whole world would come crashing down on me again. I did my best to be on alert, ready to duck for cover, and I was extremely careful about where I stepped.

My colleagues were still unaware that we were in a relationship, let alone living together, and we had gotten very careful about our private lives and our interactions at work. I still made my way home separately, and rather than hate it, as I used to, I relished having the time away from him, to be alone with my thoughts, and to feel safe within my own space in the comfort of strangers on my bus journeys.

It wasn’t until one evening, when I got home from work, and Ben had already beat the traffic with his car and arrived home before me, that things drastically changed. He was waiting impatiently for me. It had nothing to do with a romantic night in together, or the excitement of going out somewhere nice for the evening; he was waiting to interrogate me for talking too long to a young male customer at work earlier. I knew I would be in trouble, as Ben had made a point of strutting past us at work, his annoyance very evident on his face.

It didn’t matter to him that I’d been trying to help the man with a work-related issue, and that he’d needed information about some items he was buying for his wife and their new-born child. Apparently, it was wrong to offer my congratulations, to be human and have a simple conversation with an ordinary person. That evening, when I let myself into the house, Ben was lurking in the corridor, waiting for me. The expression on his face was menacing. He was a cat poised, ready to pounce and take down his prey.

“Hey, are you alright. What’s wrong?” I asked, nervously watching him from the safety of the doorway, unsure if I should make a run for it.

“Who was that man you were laughing and flirting with? What were you talking about?” he asked, inching closer to me.

“Which one? I spoke to a lot of people today, that’s my job,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension, to make him see that his line of questioning was unnecessary.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, you wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it over to him,” he snapped, still continuing to inch his way forward.

“Ben, please!” I pleaded, not wanting to go through this again. I never did anything wrong for him to have so much mistrust in me. I didn’t understand why he flew into such rages. “I would never do anything like that, you know that. I’m with you. I made the decision to stay here and be with you, despite everything that’s happened.”

Ben didn’t say a word. Instead, he moved towards me. In one quick motion, he was on me, and before I could make any decision to flee out the door, or dodge past him up the stairs, I was too late. He grabbed my left arm and pushed my face hard up against the wall, pushing with his other hand hard into my back, pulling my right arm roughly with it. He held me like this, ignoring my screaming protests to let me go.

“You are mine to do with as I chose, not that stupid ­asshole’s, mine. Do not talk to him again. If I see you talking to other men, well, I think you know what will happen,” he whispered into my ear, making his threat extremely clear.

“I’m sorry, Ben, I love you, please don’t do this, please. You’re hurting me, I get it, I won’t do it again,” I begged.

I could feel his rapid, angry breathing beginning to subside. He started to release the painful way he pinned my arm up behind my back. Slowly, tortuously so, the sharp pain that radiated was beginning to dull. I stood facing the wall, waiting until I was sure he had moved away from me completely. I was too scared to turn around and move, only listening out for his retreating footsteps and for the chill and tension that filled the hallway to return to its familiar musty scent. When I felt safe enough to move, I sprinted upstairs, cradling my left arm, ­running straight to my bedroom and closing the door quickly behind me. I sat down on our bed, rocking myself, crying in pain and shock, and with the realisation that things were never going to be better.

I didn’t have any idea of what to do, and I didn’t have anyone I could talk to about this, to get some advice, to get some help. Instead, I continued to sit on my bed and hope that shortly Ben would come upstairs, to apologise for his mistake, and that everything would be ok again.

I didn’t bother to go back downstairs; I had no appetite for dinner, and I couldn’t face seeing Ben again so soon. Instead, I went to bed and let the darkness of sleep steal my night and invade my dreams, awaiting the slumber of morning, hoping for a brighter and happier tomorrow.

Ben didn’t make it up to bed that night, and I didn’t see him leave for work the next morning either. I did find a half-empty bottle of Bourbon and could see from the state of the living room that he’d chosen to sleep on the sofa. I sat down on the chair, staring at the mess, defeated and sore from where he had twisted my arm. I hadn’t told him that I wasn’t going into work today, he could see for himself on the staff rota. I had scheduled the day off.

Since leaving the hospital, following my internal injuries caused by Ben, I had determined that I was going to make some changes, and had secretly been applying for jobs. I’d had enough of working with him, and last night had confirmed that. I’d had enough of the constant scrutiny, and it wasn’t supposed to have been forever. I had other goals that I’d almost forgotten about since leaving home, and I wanted to get back on track, sort my life out, with or without him.

I hadn’t told him about the interview I planned to have later that morning. I didn’t want him to get suspicious, difficult about me going, and I certainly didn’t need any added stress. I was nervous enough already, and it was a fantastic opportunity to do something I’d dreamed of for years.

The interview was with a small, local bank. The position was for a Bank Cashier and combined Customer Service support role. It was a ten to fifteen minute walk from the house, located in the town centre. The job had fantastic opportunities and prospects to climb the proverbial business ladder, and even gave a possibility to transition into a Sales and Financial Advisor position. I’d managed to intercept the invitation for an interview from the post, hiding it carefully so Ben wouldn’t find it. With him now safely on his way to work, I could relax a little and get myself ready, dressing in my smartest clothes, wearing the skirt and heels I’d secretly bought, hiding them in the back of my wardrobe.

It was the first time I’d worn a skirt in so many years. I hated it, feeling almost naked and uncomfortable. The high heels took quite a bit of practice too, feeling sky high in them, like a pair of stilts. I had to consciously remind myself to uncurl my toes and relax my stiff and awkward gait whilst trying to remember to breathe. I gave myself a last-minute pep talk, taking a final look in the mirror, telling myself why I was doing this and who I was doing it for. I desperately wanted this for me, this wasn’t for Ben. This was for me.

I sat in the open foyer of the bank, waiting to be called in by the interviewer. There were three other members of staff, all young, dynamic men in their clean-cut suits, and they all seemed very curious about who they would be potentially sharing an office with. They made obvious excuses to walk around, to get a closer look at me, empty files in their hands, opening and closing drawers as if they were searching for something. I found them sweet, comical almost, and automatically smiled at their antics. By the time the interviewer had called me into his office, I felt more comfortable and relaxed than I had been for the days leading up to this moment. I suddenly felt an air of confidence that I didn’t know existed until now.

The interview itself was certainly more formal than the one I’d attended at the toy store. I sat in front of a large and impressive desk, with neatly piled files, paperwork and a large computer. The walls were adorned with certificates and awards, proudly displayed in expensive glass frames, and the room, although small, carried an air of authority and professionalism.

The interview lasted around an hour, and when it was over, I was invited to meet the other members of staff that had been curiously lurking. I hadn’t realised at the time that it was their final approval of me that would seal my fate, and I was genuinely interested in getting to know them. I liked how they wanted to show me around and explain more about their roles and how my role fit into the bigger picture. The manager had left me in their capable hands and gone back to his office, only wanting to briefly speak to me before I went home again. I spent over an hour with them all before I was knocking on his door again. He invited me to sit down as he sat the other side of his desk, a huge, beaming smile streaked across his face.

“Right!” he exclaimed, slapping his hand onto a closed brown envelope in front of him. “This is for you, if you would like to open it now,” he said, pushing the envelope across the desk towards me. I wordlessly took it, opening it carefully, trying not to let my hands shake. I read the cover­ing carefully, a contract which had been prepared whilst I’d been talking to the other staff. “Congratulations!” he exclaimed, standing up and extending his hand for me to shake.

I followed suit, standing up and taking his warm hand in mine. He grasped it firmly, vigorously pumping it up and down.

“So, when are you able to come and join us?” he asked, knocking on the window of his office to the three men who had been waiting nearby for news, indicating for them to come in. I was so shocked. It wasn’t necessary for me to formally say yes to the position, there was no question of if I wanted it or not.

“Well, I’ll speak to my current employers tomorrow, and I’ll be able to tell you a more certain date,” I replied, excited, my brain racing, wondering what the store would say, how Ben would react.

The position was perfect for me, and the salary was even more than I’d dreamed of. My thoughts were quickly interrupted.

“We thought you should know, you were the one, mate. We knew it as soon as we saw you,” the others chimed. “We’ve seen so many applicants over the last two weeks, and you were the best by far,” they continued, patting me on the shoulder, congratulating me. I was embarrassed by all the attention and didn’t know what to say. I signed the paperwork immediately and proudly took my copies home with me.

I wanted to do something special for dinner, to break the news to Ben and hopefully celebrate with him, so I stopped off at the local supermarket to buy something. As I turned the corner to walk down to our house, I noticed his silver car parked directly outside. I began to panic, wondering how long he’d been home for. Was he still angry with me from last night, and what was he going to say when he saw how I was dressed?

I stopped dead in my tracks. Would I be able to sneak into the house unnoticed? I could get changed quickly and hope that would make a difference to his mood.

I tiptoed to the front door as quietly as I could, putting the key in the lock, begging it not to make a sound as I turned it. Open, I peeked my head inside, taking a quick look around the hallway, making sure he hadn’t heard me. I slowly placed the shopping bags on the hallway floor, took off my heels, and sprinted up the stairs, stopping briefly on the landing, listening out for any noise or movement. It sounded like he was in the bath, or at least I hoped it was him sloshing around in the water.

I peeked through the gap of our bedroom door that was half open and, seeing it was empty, dashed across the room whilst trying to undress, ripping at my tights, yanking them free from my legs, tugging at the zip on my skirt that was now stuck halfway. I started to panic and pulled the skirt upward and over my head, doing the same with my blouse, having no time to undo all the tiny buttons that my shaking hands couldn’t manage. I grabbed all my clothes, screwing them up in a ball, launching them into the back of my wardrobe, willing the door not to creak and betray my presence as I opened and closed it. I re-dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, grabbing the first available pair of socks to put on. It was the quickest I’d ever changed before, and I had to catch my breath before walking into the bathroom. I knocked on the door.

“Hey, Ben, is that you in there?” I called out nervously, pressing my ear to the door. There was no answer. “Ben,” I called out again, pressing my ear even closer to the door.

“He’s not in here, we’re having a bath, do you mind!” shouted our housemates, who continued to giggle and splash around in the water.

I took an immediate step back from the door, gasping in horror. I turned around, slowly trying orientate myself and find out where Ben was. He wasn’t upstairs. My breath caught in the back of my throat and I couldn’t breathe. I steadied myself against the banister, trying to calm my thoughts.

Okay, I need to get downstairs, think, think, think. Had he seen me? Had he heard me come in? Had he been watching every move I’d made? I had to quickly think of a reason of why I’d been rushing to go upstairs, but there was no more time for me to think.

“Is that you?” Ben called up the stairs. I wanted to scream, No! Wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to escape up here. I had to brave it.

“Hey, I was looking for you. Where were you? I’ve bought something special for our dinner tonight,” I rambled nervously, making my way downstairs. Ben was waiting near the kitchen. He was holding the brown envelope containing my offer of contract from the bank. The expression on his face was beyond angry. I tried to ignore it and walked towards him.

“I wanted to cook for you for a change,” I said, reaching for the shopping bags that Ben had already brought into the kitchen. He stood watching me, silent, waiting. “I have a surprise. Some good news I wanted to celebrate with you,” I continued, “but it looks like you’ve found it already,” I added, trying to make light of it. “Have you read it?” I asked, feeling a little angry that he’d gone through my bag to find it.

“What is this?” he finally spoke, his face twisting with anger.

I stared hard back at him, determined to stand my ground.

“Remember when we first started dating, we were in a pub together and I told you all about the type of career I wanted to have?” I started, trying to get him to remember the happier beginnings of our relationship, hoping this wouldn’t come as such a shock to him. “Well, whilst I was in the hospital, I was so bored, alone there, I started going through all the job vacancies and saw this job.” I indicated the envelope he still held.

“It was exactly what I was looking for and I applied for it. I didn’t for one minute think I would be offered an interview, let alone get the job. They offered it to me today. I didn’t want to tell you about it in case nothing came of it. I wanted to surprise you with the news this evening,” I continued, watching his reaction carefully, wondering how I could stop him from looking so angry. “What do you think? Are you happy?” I started to unpack the shopping bags. “I bought us some steaks, and a nice bottle of red wine, is that okay?”

Ben threw my contract down on the floor and stormed past me, shoving me to one side as he went out the front door, slamming it hard behind him. I waited a moment, dropping a sharp knife I hadn’t realised I was holding, and rushed over to the living room window, pulling back the curtains to see where he was going. He crossed the street and into the pub opposite. I wondered if I should go after him or leave him. Should I even bother to cook dinner? Our special meal planned for this evening seemed almost pointless now.

I closed the curtains again and was about to go to the kitchen, to put all the shopping away, when our housemates suddenly spoke. I hadn’t even noticed that they’d come downstairs and were snuggled up on the sofa so I jumped right out of my skin.

“Is everything alright?” she asked kindly.

“Hi, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you both sat there,” I replied, worried about how much she’d heard. “No, everything’s fine, I think Ben just wanted to go out for a drink whilst I’m making dinner,” I replied, trying to make everything sound perfectly normal.

They both nodded, doubtful, staring blankly at me.

“Why do you put up with him?” she asked. “He’s horrible to you, and if he behaves like that when we’re here, is he any better when we’re not?”

This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with her on my own.

“No, it’s fine, I think I just upset him again, it’s my fault,” I replied, uncomfortable having this conversation with her.

“No, it’s not fine, and you’re not fine. We’re the ones that have to listen to you crying all the time,” she complained, obviously frustrated about it. “We’ve been talking about it, and to be honest with you, we don’t much like living here with the two of you.”

I was shocked. This was the first time they’d mentioned anything about being unhappy. I knew we weren’t the best of friends, but I hadn’t realised they disliked the living arrangements quite so much.

“We have a proposition,” she started, looking to her boyfriend for support. “We want to find someone else to either take over our rent, or you both need to find somewhere else and move out. If you decide to move out, we could afford it on our own for a while and, quite honestly, we enjoy living here more than you do, so we’d prefer to stay.”

Her boyfriend only nodded in agreement.

I was stunned, taking a moment before I could answer. “I should speak to Ben first, before anything’s decided, and see what he wants to do,” I mumbled.

“It’s not you. We’re happy if you stay, but not him. We don’t like him,” she added, trying to be a bit warmer towards me. I nodded and we sat in an awkward silence for a while. I wondered if I should go and find Ben in the pub or wait for him to come home. Either way, we needed to talk about all of this and get things sorted out. I wanted to stop all the fighting. We had a chance to be happy, it just needed a little more effort on both parts. I wanted my job to be a fresh start, for me, for us. It had to work.

I put on my jacket and opened the front door, suddenly grateful for the blast of ice-cold air that hit my face. It smelt heavy with petrol, as the peak traffic rushed through our street, the darkness of dusk that had started to draw in making it feel decidedly cooler than usual. The streetlamps were already well illuminated, and I could see the pub car park had filled steadily with cars, joined by their families, ready for an evening of entertainment.

I carefully crossed the street and joined the mingling crowd. It was now too late to start cooking dinner, and after the outburst with Ben, and the conversation with our housemates, I didn’t feel much like eating. I decided to see if I could join him for a drink instead; perhaps that was another way we could at least try and make the most of what was left of the evening.

I scanned the faces in the busy saloon and games room. Every corner and visible space was crowded. There was a new band playing here tonight, the first of many nights, and judging by the crowd it already looked like they were well on their way to stardom. I found Ben eventually, seated next to an old brick fireplace that was unlit. He was at a small round table and staring hard into his half-empty pint glass as he cradled it in both hands. He looked miserable, and I wondered if it had been all me that made him look that way.

I watched him from afar, feeling guilty. Guilty that I hadn’t done enough to make him happy. We didn’t seem to have as much fun as other couples did. I felt responsible for not doing more, that I could have behaved better. It was my fault, and as I waded through the sea of people, I vowed to make some changes.

I sat down next to him, squeezing myself onto the small bench that separated us from the next table. I was apologetic. I had to say what I needed to say to him before I lost my courage. I reached out and put my hand on his arm, surprising him momentarily, making him jerk back in his chair. He roughly pulled his arm away and gave me a cold, hard stare.

“I’m sorry. I would never try to hurt you on purpose. I wanted the news of my job to be a surprise, so we could move forward and get back to being happy. We can’t be happy if we have to constantly hide our relationship from everyone, it’s not fair,” I pleaded, reaching for his arm again, desperate for him to forgive me. He didn’t pull away this time, but still chose not to look at me. I tried again.

“I had a very strange conversation with our housemates just now,” I started, waiting, hoping he would give me some sign he was listening. “Apparently they hate us living with them and have given us an ultimatum.” I paused, waiting for him to react or even appear interested.

“Well, what do they want now?” he finally asked, averting his gaze from his beer, suddenly noticing the noisy crowd in the bar as they swelled around him.

“They don’t want to share a house with us any longer. They said either we move out, or they will, but either way they want us out,” I told him, not wanting to say that it was actually him they wanted gone. “What should we do?”

“What’s their problem? We haven’t been living with them for that long. They’re crazy, always looking for problems, nothing’s ever good enough for them,” he ranted, immediately angry, his lean body wired, coiled. A spark of anger now fully ignited. I hadn’t quite expected his explosive reaction, and it was me this time who withdrew their hand, seating myself a safer distance from him. I almost regretted telling him about it, but it had to be said.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not comfortable sharing a house with them anyway. And to be more clear, I don’t much like the house,” I told him, trying to diffuse the anger that was evident on his face.

“I’m really done with moving house, I don’t want to go through this again,” he continued, taking large swigs of his beer and quickly emptying his glass, slamming it down on the table. Some people nearby turned to look and tried to move themselves away as much as they could in a crowded room, not wanting to be near any trouble.

“Look, maybe it’s a good thing. Let’s go home and talk about it privately. Even better, let’s talk about it when our housemates aren’t there,” I told him, now eager to leave the pub, worried he was going to cause a scene with his angry outbursts. I got up from the table, extending my hand for him to take, guiding him out of the pub. “Come on,” I encouraged, “let’s go home now.”

The pub had quickly filled with more people, and the band was about ready to start playing. I didn’t like it in there. It was too hot, too noisy and way too many people. I could feel the tension start to grip me, a panic and desperation to get out of here, quickly. Someone had already jumped into my warm seat, and another person waited impatiently for Ben to get up, claiming the table with their pints of beer and packets of crisps. He was annoyed at having been evicted from his cosy table and left his empty glasses for the newcomers to sort out.

He pushed past me, creating a gap in the crowd, and I quickly followed his lead, unconsciously holding my breath until we reached the car park. We paused on the porch steps, allowing the deafening silence after the loud pub to go back to normal, calming ourselves in the fresh cold air. Stale smoke lingered on our clothes. Our ears rang from the loud music, which pumped out loud beats, and the shouts of people who were struggling to have a conversation. We could now hear the sweeter, more gentle music the birds sang out, a song to whoever would listen.

On the street, a lone town fox roamed from garden to garden in search of food, the only nature that seemed to thrive in this loud concrete jungle. I missed the greenness of home. It was the only thing about living with Joan and my father that I loved. I stopped my thoughts quickly, not liking the direction they were starting to wander in. I didn’t want to think about them and had no desire to see them or talk to them anytime soon. We left each other alone, as if neither of us existed in each other’s lives, as though we were strangers. I gave a big sigh, feeling sad. I couldn’t miss what I never had.

I wrapped my arms around Ben, temporarily forgetting our cross words, needing a warm body to take away the sudden chill that swelled over me when I thought about ‘home’. He seemed calmer, more compliant, accepting the small comfort we both needed.

“I’m sorry,” I told him, thinking back to how this whole argument had quickly escalated; my poorly timed announcement of my new job. We still had to talk about it, however the immediate issue seemed to be, once again, our dire living arrangements.

“I’m tired, let’s go to bed. I have an early start tomorrow, and I’m in no mood to talk any more about any of this tonight,” he said, taking my hand, crossing the road, to a house where neither of us wanted to be.

Tomorrow was going to be a better day, I was sure of it. I still had to write my resignation letter and have a discussion about when I could leave. I could then begin the task of replacing my wardrobe with a whole new one. My staple uniform of jeans and t-shirts were no longer going to be acceptable with my new bank role.

We opened the front door, and that musty, dank smell seemed ever more pungent. We looked at each other, knowing what the right thing was to do now.

2

Dormant

Has the storm already passed, or does it now lay dormant. In a more peaceful sky, in a quieter moment.

Through the eye of the storm, life is serene as ever, a glimpse of blue skies before they darken with danger.

I’ll savour the peace, before it rips through the skies, the deafening noise of the screams and the cries. I’ll stand in the storm as the monster grows bigger, then I’ll go to my place where the air is much thinner.

I wait for the storm to regather its pace, before I become lost, in its dark open space.

´

I closed the front door behind me, slamming it so hard the frame reverberated, the brick wall appearing to ripple with the impact. The world before me seemed to pause. The majestic clouds no longer moved in their graceful direction. Instead, they hung heavily, motionless, white and billowy in the blue sky. The birds had stopped singing. Altogether, in an instant, as if the song they had been singing had come to an end and they were waiting for the next track to start. It didn’t, and the world became silent. The slam of the front door had stopped the world from continuing forward, the reverberation taking it off track. I wanted to scream. I wanted to burst my lungs. To put everything back as it was. To hear the birds sing once more. To jolt everything back to normal.

I couldn’t push any air out of my lungs, only gut-wrenching sobs. Everything was wrong. Everything was moving in the direction I’d longed for, yet nothing felt right. Nothing was okay. Everything around me felt dormant. The world hung silently, suspended, lost in time and motion.

I should have been enjoying my first day of freedom. Going shopping for new clothes for when I started work at the bank in two weeks. I hated going clothes shopping; I was useless at it and had no idea what I should be looking for. I’d finished my final day at the toy store after almost two years of working there, now over, gone, behind me. All the memories and life-changing moments that had happened during that time had been left behind. I wasn’t entirely sure how I was supposed to feel about it. I’d made some friends. It had been a job I liked. It got me to where I was, here now, with Ben, and away from my family. Away from a life that had hurt me so badly. And yet somehow I couldn’t understand why I was unable, or unwilling, to take another brave step and move forward.

I knew I needed those two weeks to transition myself away from the ugly orange-and-white striped uniform we had to wear. To change into something else that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I had to wear a skirt daily, and shoes with heels, neither of which I felt relaxed in. I tried to think about the new wardrobe as if it were a new uniform, of a different kind, trying to reconcile with myself that at least I could go back home and change into my beloved ripped jeans or jogging pants.

I walked a few steps down the garden path and onto the pavement, lifting my head upwards, towards the sky and the treetops, willing the world to start moving again. Still nothing. It was eerily quiet, and it seemed I was the only person who existed in the world. There were no other humans or animals anywhere around me. Almost as if there was an apocalyptic event that had erased the world as I slept, leaving me here, alone with my own sinister version of the future to behold.

It took me a very long fifteen minutes to reach the town centre, and I was more than relieved to see that the world hadn’t in fact stopped or been wiped out. There were people, suddenly lots of them, rushing around, going about their daily business. I briefly looked up to the sky, checking once more to see if I’d been hallucinating. Were the clouds still moving, and had it all been some kind of lucid dream?

Angry dark clouds were now forcing away the cotton candy white clouds, melting them into the once-blue sky, now replaced with a heavy darkness. The sky rumbled and roared to life, warning the birds and animals to fly back to their nests, to take cover, safe and dry from the imminent storm. A warning that grew louder, to hurry now, no delay, to move quickly. A reminder to the world below that we were small and powerless in its presence. My day had not long started, and I decided to watch the storm from the safety of a coffee shop, cradling a hot cup of tea in my hands, waiting for the worst to pass. Everything always felt better once the storm had passed.

It was so big it somehow shook everything awake, bringing it back to life. I finished my tea and tentatively stood on the doorstep of the coffee shop, listening as the last rumbles rolled away into the distance. The air was clearer, lighter than before, and I could finally fill my lungs. The pressure and weight of the storm changed my mood, and I felt happier, freer.

I had an enthusiastic urge to go shopping now, to find what I wanted to buy, taking inspiration whilst in the coffee shop, watching people my age walking by, taking note of what they were wearing, and the more comfortable version of it to wear.

I was still extremely slim, pretty much skin and bones, and finding clothes that fit me properly was becoming increasingly frustrating. It was exhausting going from shop to shop, trying on hundreds of garments, changing into my own clothes again and again, and after three hours I’d more than had it. I’d bought enough for what I needed for the first week or so, and more could be added later.

On my way back home, my arms laden with shopping bags, I walked past one of the local estate agents. It was a relatively new agency that was run by a young and dynamic team of good-looking men and women. The shop frontage was bold and eye catching, and instead of having to squint and search through all the small print from the newspapers, there were full blown colour pictures of each property, loaded with information about every house for sale or rent. Images were professionally printed, and meticulously adorned the large windows, row after row. Something made me stop. Whether it was the need to give my arms a rest from the heavy shopping bags, to catch a breath, or just be generally nosy and see if there was anything suitable for Ben and me.

We hadn’t officially given our notice to the either the landlord or our housemates and had instead made a casual agreement that we would be the ones to move out. We made it clear to them that we wouldn’t be put under pressure to go immediately, as they initially wanted us to. We would go when we’d found somewhere, and in the meantime would have to find a way to co-exist in a civil manner. Since we’d had the conversation with them, we mostly tried to avoid one another, and the instances where we did bump into each other were more courteous, as if you passed by someone on the street and wished them a good morning. I explained that I first wanted to settle in my job for a few weeks, not wanting to add to the stress of finding somewhere else to live at the same time.

The rental market seemed to explode, and there were at least twice the amount of properties available than there had been six months ago. I felt more relaxed that we would be able to find something hopefully more permanent to move into when we were ready.

It felt odd not being around Ben so much. Even though we’d barely spoken at the toy store, it had been nice to know he was there, especially on the days where we were getting on well together. He didn’t much like it when I wasn’t around, when he wasn’t there to keep an eye on me. Over the two weeks I had free, in between jobs, he constantly bothered me, calling at home to see what I was doing and who I was doing it with. He didn’t seem to believe the fact that I was comfortable at home, alone, and didn’t need the company of others for my entertainment.

When he came home from work, he wasn’t always pleasant, either grabbing my arms roughly or delivering a barrage of spiteful comments and insults. This became my new norm and I accepted it. There didn’t seem like any other alternative.

One week into my two-week sabbatical, I became more anxious and reluctant to be outside, fearing what the outcome of me going out would be when he came home. The house had never been so clean, and I had time to experiment in the kitchen, learning new recipes to make for dinner. I retreated most of the time to the sanctuary of my bedroom and began listening to sad songs, which I grew a liking to. Songs that echoed the different chapters of my life, playing them over and over, finding something new in their words and melody each time they played.

The songs brought me comfort in an obscure kind of way. Knowing that the singer had felt like I did at some point in their life, feeling strongly enough to make a song about it. I wondered if perhaps they did it to heal others, if it was a way to communicate their own sorrows and survival.

These melancholy moments were becoming more frequent, and I knew for my own sanity I should be playing something a bit more upbeat. Songs to reflect how I wanted to feel. A song about everlasting happiness. A song where I didn’t feel the need to keep looking at all the bruises that covered my arms and the rest of my body. A song that didn’t make me fall out of my own skin when someone entered the room. A song we could sing together and smile about.

The two weeks went by very quickly, and before I knew it I was already teetering the fifteen-minute walk through town to the bank in the high heels and knee-length skirts I’d purchased. I’d been practicing wearing the heels at home, for short periods at a time, preparing my feet and calf muscles for the long hours to come. This morning however, it felt different, harder, less elegant trying to stay upright on the pavement.

I arrived a little bit too early at the bank and nervously waited outside, in the chilly morning air, until the door was unlocked. It was bustling on the street, which was just around the corner from the town centre. The bank was situated on a busy main road, and the estate agents I had stopped at a two weeks earlier was opposite. The street either side, as far down as I could see, comprised businesses; sandwich shops, insurance companies and estate agents. It was exciting to be a part of such an industrious hive, and I began to feel my nerves disappear. I had a strong feeling that I belonged here.

It wasn’t long before the Deputy Manager, Jamie, arrived with a menagerie of keys, using three different ones to unlock the front glass door. He was out of breath and flustered, and focused on getting inside, getting all the machines switched on, the kettle boiling. He announced that he would be spending the first week with me, to do my induction training, and I would have to shadow him and learn where everything was and how it all worked.

The first job, besides taking a hot coffee in my hands, was to learn how to open the old dial safe. It wasn’t a particularly easy task for me to follow, as it required precision turning, listening with a keen ear at the door for the right click to fall into place. Jamie expertly spun it left, then hard right and back again, slowing and stopping as the dials were lined up correctly, assuring me I would grasp it in no time. I wasn’t so confident.

The tray of coins and bank notes had to be re-counted from the previous day, the balance reconciled, signed and counter-signed before any customers could be served, and only then could it be put in the locked desk drawer. It was a huge and impressive desk, more like a grand table, with a dark green leather top, embossed in gold leaf in a pretty pattern around the edges.

Once all the money had been secured away, Jamie handed over the keys for me to look after. This was my job now. There was so much for me to learn, and I was more than enthusiastic to get started. Everything was clearly explained, and although I understood everything he was saying, I still needed to take notes as there was so much to remember.

I liked Jamie. He was a few years older than me, friendly and easy to be around, and as I soon learned, the joker, the prankster of the team. Another two members of staff arrived a little later, both around a similar age, and both equally nice. The manager that had interviewed me, I was told, wouldn’t be arriving until later that morning. In the meantime, there were plenty of customers that drifted in and out throughout the morning. With Jamie sat next to me at the huge front desk, I learned to meet and greet the customers. A friendly smile, small talk, processing the payments and bank books efficiently and confidently. I loved what I was doing and knew this was going to be the beginning of something long term.

My first day passed by in a blur, reconciling bank balances, processing and tidying away all the paperwork and customer files, and by 5:30pm, my feet ached like they were dying, my head was spinning with all the things I had to learn, and my face ached from all the smiling at customers. I was tired, yet happy, and was looking forward to taking off my ridiculous shoes, changing into my comfy jogging bottoms, and stretching myself out on the sofa until Ben came home.

It was strange that I hadn’t thought about him. Not once the whole day, and I suddenly felt guilty. It was an odd feeling, that in that moment, when I recalled his name, a chill came over me. I shivered a little, pushing it out of my mind, trying to only think about how I was going to manage to walk the fifteen minutes back home when it felt like I had knives in my shoes. I wondered if I was ever going to get used to them, or if it would be a better idea to start going to and from work in a pair of trainers.

I eventually reached my front door, staggering the last few steps, eager to be home. Ben was already here, his car parked in front of the house. I felt suddenly nervous about going inside. I hadn’t wanted him to be home so soon. I wanted to have enough time to get changed from the clothes he hadn’t seen me put on that morning. He had wished me luck, from what I could remember, but it had been so early, and neither my brain nor I had had a proper chance to wake up. I remember he’d kissed the top of my head as I left for work. He had to understand that the clothing I now wore was my new uniform of sorts, whether he liked it or not, so he had to trust me. I’d never given him any reason not to, and yet he was jealous of everything I did when I was away from him.