I’m an addict. You are my addiction.
When I don’t have you, I crave you; when I get you, for a very short while it feels as though everything is going to be alright and afterwards – when the high is gone, there is nothing. There’s just emptiness and self loathing.
‘We can’t do this anymore.’
‘I know.’
They are hollow words that we’ve said from the start but still nothing changes. It might last for a month; maybe even two but then there will always be a phone call; a text; an illicit encounter suggested and arranged. We both know that we’re just paying lip service to it now; trying to ease the guilt by pretending that this time will be the last time.
I hate myself afterwards; I know that you do too. I hate what we’re doing to him. It would kill him if he found out about us; he’d probably kill me first but it would kill him too. What we’re doing is the ultimate betrayal; his wife and his best friend... but even that isn’t enough to make us stop this.
What kind of man does that make me, to do this after everything that we’ve been through together?
I love him; you’re in love with him – despite all this I believe you when you say that. I know you don’t love me; most of the time you don’t even like me; the feeling is certainly mutual. The addict hates that which he craves.
I need you to function just like you need me. Knowing that we have this is what gets me through the days and I know I’m pathetic but I need that.
So when we’re dressed and ready to go back to the world outside; back to playing the parts of the loyal best friend and the loving wife, I kiss you softly on the cheek and ask ‘same time next week?’
You don’t smile, but you do nod once before leaving the room.
I know one day the cycle will break and then everything will come crashing down; I know I will hurt the most important person in my life; I know I’m hurtling towards disaster; but God help me I just can’t kick the habit.
