Writing for Fun
May 2018
Maybe, Definitely - Maureen Rampersaud
‘Maybe,’ Flynn mumbled.
‘What? I ask you if you if you still love me and that’s the answer!’ My voice trembled but I tried to cover it up and sound strong. My pride was all I had left.
‘I’m sorry, Lou.’
I walked away before he saw my tears but his voice reached me, ‘I just need some time, don’t leave like this.’
I sat in my bedroom, stunned. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him to commit. We’d been together for five years, since we were at school. I felt physically sick, like my heart had been ripped out of me; I was in shock. The love of my life didn’t love me anymore.
My nights were sleepless as I tortured myself with brutal thoughts of my worthlessness. I managed to resume my daily routine, feeling like a broken toy, useless. One day I overheard a conversation, ‘It’s a bit soon, isn’t it?’
‘I know, Flynn was all over her.’
‘Thank God Lou’s not going out, imagine if she’d seen that!’
‘Yeah. Flynn’s certainly making the most of his freedom but Lou can’t seem to function without him. It’s kind of pathetic.’
‘Poor Lou!’
That’s when the anger kicked in. I decided to take my therapy into my own hands and that’s when I got into hard rock in a big way. Every evening I went to my bedroom, closed the curtains and danced like a maniac to this music, which matched my mood perfectly. I started tentatively with Rainbow’s ‘Since You’ve Been Gone’, quickly progressing to Bon Jovi’s ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’. By the time I got to The Stooges’ ‘Search and Destroy’, I was cured. I wanted to rip Flynn’s head off at first, now I didn’t care enough to bother.
Jack, from work, started taking me out. He was fun to be with and I was enjoying myself in a totally free, new way. I felt valued and that I deserved to be happy.
Flynn must have followed us home, because as soon as Jack had left, he rang the doorbell. I was shocked to see him, he looked different, thinner and scruffier.
‘Lou, I’ve missed you.’
‘Have you?’
‘Yes, I – I think that maybe . . . I really love you.’
I looked him straight in the eyes and said, as gently as I could,
‘Flynn, I’m afraid I don’t love you . . . definitely.’
And I closed the door.