Foggy Night

Take a walk outside and calm those nerves. Get a hold of those emotions of yours; wrestle them into submission and rationalise the situation. It’s foggy, so foggy that it makes visibility really difficult. In fog of that kind, it’s easy to let your imagination run wild with paranoia, especially when it’s cold. Why does fog always come with the cold? There’s probably some kind of scientific explanation for it. There usually is.
Staring blankly into the mist and idly toying with the keys in my pocket, the cool air refreshes me; it helps to clear my mind. Last night we fought tooth and nail. We argued relentlessly, malicious utterances spilling out of us until there was nothing left inside. The emotions flooded me, it was like they’d come out of some kind of yawning chasm right inside of my guts that I’d never even known about. I think that it had been the same for her, the way her eyes had burned at me. They had been like the headlights of a speeding car in the night, roaring towards you, intense and frightening to behold.
As we argued, the room had filled up with the thick noxious fumes of profanity and passionate fury. It had got so that I couldn’t see anything at all; just her eyes glowing bigger and redder as her anger and presence swelled, totally disproportionate to anything and everything.
I wonder now how I must have looked to her, probably just a large throbbing lump of gristled anger and humiliation burning away at her. We’d surprised each other I think. I had stormed out, floating off into the night on that cloud of bad feeling. She had remained, presumably crying and wishing I would come back.
I had returned and of course by that time she had left. Our place seemed drained; looking outside at the weather it seemed as if that dense fog that so engulfed us both last night had spread outside, quickly escaping out of the door as I left and blanketing the surrounding area. I couldn’t be in there anymore, I had needed to get outside again; it wasn’t even hot but the room had seemed so stuffy that all of my senses stifled and clogged up. It felt like I’d swallowed a clod of wet tissue without chewing it properly. Snatching her note from the table I quickly left, stumbling down the stairs in haste, practically hyperventilating.
Now as I take in deep breathes I watch my exhalations cloud up and drift off into the night sky. I look down at the note one more time and I’m not sure if she’ll ever come back. The more I think about it though I’m not completely sure if this makes me happy or sad; it’ll probably take me some time to decide yet, I need to think on it.
Looking back on these last three months together I try to remain objective. She had left her husband for me. I’d been utterly ruthless with her. You see, when I truly want something I really go after it and there’s not a lot that can stop me. It’s always been that way and I don’t think it’ll ever change.
At the time all that I could think about was how I could possess her; everything else just seemed to take a back seat as I mutated into some kind of relentlessly inhuman cajoling machine, a massive cock and balls laying in wait for her in my office with a knowing smile. Eventually she came round to my way of thinking; I had known right from the very start that she would.
Whenever he would come to pick her up I’d be there looking out of my window. Watching. I would stand there peering through the blinds and I would watch her kiss him on the cheek before guiltily glancing back in my direction. The first time she looked back I knew. After that it had been easy really; it was just a matter of biding my time and applying pressure at the right moment and in the right place.
Now she’s left though I’m pretty sure that she will have gone running straight back to him. Last night she had said that she’d made a mistake by leaving him for me, all the usual shit you know, "he was safe and he was dependable and he really cared about what happened to her". Please. I told her straight; I said he was a loser.
Still if I’m honest, I really really hope that he hasn’t taken her back. Losing to a loser, I don’t like the way that makes me look.
My guts churn. I can feel an acidic sensation in the back of my throat.
That fucking note. A bit ambiguous for my liking that’s for sure.

Women enjoy toying with the emotions of men, it’s all about empowerment. Sooner or later it always comes up; they don’t care how they get it, just that they get it. You, your balls, your manhood, whatever makes you you, that’s what they want. They either want it or they want a big hefty piece of it; a stake in it. Seriously, the sooner they learn that it’s impossible the better.
She won’t say anything about the money, I’m pretty certain of that. I mean, she enjoyed spending it just as much as I did. But like the smoke from the head of a match after you’ve just blown it out, there is a wisp; a wisp of doubt.
I have given her a way to hurt me; I have unequivocally given her the option. Sometimes that’s all it takes. She could be thinking of ways to blame me right fucking now. She could literally be telling that loser everything right now. Christ how could I have been so godamnedstupid?
I’m pacing up and down.
What did I say last night? We had both said things in haste; we were deliberately trying to hurt each other. All the time we were together we never spoke about what we’d done, that was a taboo between the two of us that was frankly untouchable, well as far as I was concerned it was. What about her though? Those blazing eyes of hers; two blistering rings of fire, two searchlights peering down from the darkness above, illuminating me completely. Her voice clear in my mind now speaking to all and sundry
“Coercion” she whimpers,
“Embezzlement"
"Fraud” I can hear her now in my mind crying to unseen faces with willing ears and blackened moral hearts.
Suddenly I’m reaching for my mobile. I have to know. My mouth is dry and I can feel my heart start to loosen its way out of my chest, crawling up my neck and leaving a slimy cold trail of guilt and fear as it goes.
The dialling tone purrs and my pulse quickens, a jack-hammer in my wrist that reaches a deafening crescendo as the tone goes straight to her answering machine. I’m still standing outside of my building as I completely liquefy. I’m just an ice cold puddle of panic splattered on the tarmac. Sickened with an ever increasing sense of paranoia, this is the first time in many weeks where I no longer feel in control. I collect myself, easy, reaching out into the night for composure. It might seem strange and alien right now but need to just hold on and not let go.
I need to see her; I need to hoist myself from the palm of her hand. If we can just talk then we can compromise, you can’t just turn off passion, not the kind that we have.
I’m getting myself together now. I’m climbing into my car and I’m driving. She’ll see me; she has to. I’m driving and I think I know just where to look for her.