He climbs over the wall and inspects the shell, tapping with practiced fingers. He's done being discrete, because what worked in the past doesn't seem to work anymore. She was easy to win back before. He could be cavalier about it all, let her stew until he was damned good and ready. Even if she didn't immediately break, he could usually find the right things to do and the right lies to say. A week or two would pass and she'd come back.
He had taken to sending feelers out to their mutual friends. Tentative, testing the waters. The friends refused to budge, protecting her from contact with him. Guards at the gate, ever vigilant in their mission to keep him out. This was new, but he saw it as a challenge. He'd find another way in.
He hadn't touched her in 2 months. There were terse growlings in her emails to him. In the past she had growled when the sexual frustration had reached a certain point. She was a horny little thing and it never took her long to "need" him. She had to be aching by now. He tapped on the shell in a different place. He ran a hand over the seamless shell, searching for a weak spot, a seam that he could open. He tapped out messages on his phone. He knew she was inside, for he could hear her breathing.
*********
Eyes glowed inside the shell, but the light was not that of love and longing. Angel me watched the summer storm in my eyes. Devil me smiles, but doesn't laugh, or speak. The tapping moves over the surface of the shell. Fingernails scrape at a perceived flaw, and I turn stormy eyes to the source of the scraping.
The message appears, he's accepted a friend request from a woman, Y, who works with H; they're dating. She's not wound on tight either, so she and H enjoy a stormy, drama-filled soap opera of a relationship. H often dumps her for various bar flies, covered in tatts and sporting gold teeth. Then they get back together and soon are screaming at each other. I get requests from Y at the rate of one a week. I refuse them, state that I don't know her (I don't). The social networking site sends me a message saying that she'll not be able to send another request. The next week she goes into someone's friend list, finds me, and sends another request. I'm not stupid, H has mentioned her name. I refuse to get involved. I send a warning to D because H badmouths him too. Y could be planning revenge or wanting to add a healthy dollop of drama to her soap opera love affair with my ex husband.
*********
He slips a finger into the seam where the message slipped out. He's feeling the rush of adrenaline while he keys in a reply, apparent by the errors in spelling and the odd punctuation. He adopts his trademark "Gee whiz! Thank you for watching my back", slips in the standard excuses (I really don't know how people sneek in). Then the relief of contact makes him drop his mask of unflappable coolness, he promises to delete Y. He doesn't know what else to say so he compliments the growling thing in the shell, telling her that he won't delete her, that she's got good photos and that she's a funny acquaintance. He's trying to make light, and he doesn't see her eyes narrowing. He tells her that "Only time will tell. Only you can decide if we can be plubonic friends."
*********
Devil me snorts laughter, "Correct his errors!" I'm not sure if he's trying to be funny or if he's drunk. I no longer know or care about his work schedule. I stare at the screen, disgusted, arms crossed. When I lay my fingers on the keyboard, the reply comes easily, epic in length. It ends with "You don't want me around period, so this whole "Only time will tell" crap is for the fucking birds. I want friends who want to be around me, who want to do things with me, and who don't expect me to always pick up the tab for them," and, "It's not possible for me to go from what I thought was a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship to a platonic friendship. Time won't change that. Besides, you wouldn't want to do things with me anyway, unless I'm paying the bill and it's the biggest and the best that money can buy. I think that acquaintance is about the best we can do."
Angel me sighs, "It's not over, you know." I nod. With L, it HAD been different. L had always come back. D was an ego boost for her, a decade younger. He had cheated every time they broke up, even if it was a booty call with some hideous gorilla from his running group. He reasoned that she did the same, but she didn't. That was how he met B; she was just some woman he picked up in the bar, both of them desperate for a long term relationship. He went between her and L for 18 months. He's older now, and the only booty call left is planning her birthday party - she is turning 58 - and is currently involved with a manly woman. The other booty calls have scattered, getting married, moving away, turning to fat hippie types or otherworldly new age. He's been working overtime, riding motorcycles, and doing work on his house. He's been avoiding the bars other than to pick the brains of our mutual friends. With the new smart phone he can peruse the social networking site, moving around on the same pages. He checks in often. He'll see my note tonight.
He'll back off again. My birthday is this month. That's another weak spot. Devil me looks into my sad eyes. That's a serious flaw in the shell. I'm considering taking myself out to dinner, alone, somewhere nice. Sushi, perhaps. Then I can take the kids out since my oldest has a birthday the day following mine. I'll have all weekend to celebrate both birthdays with the kids. Devil me doesn't like the sound of that, "Eating alone may be peaceful, but it will give you time to feel alone. You'll be melancholy, and that will make you weak." Angel me nods, "Celebrate with friends and with the kids. Don't go out alone." I nod. Maybe I'll take the kids to the sushi restaurant for lunch. We can eat outside if the umbrellas are up and the seabreeze is blowing.
*********
Later, he will read the note. He will sigh and key in his response, "ok".
*********
K laughs when I tell him. He sounds nearly giddy while he describes D's distress - or at least how he imagines D's distress to be. He believes D is starting to get nervous that he may have lost me, "That's why he's all over this 'I'll explain xyz and then I'll delete her. No problem!! I'm not going to delete you. I like whats in you photos and your funny as an aquantence'. If you told him to kiss your ass, he'd run right over. He can't even be cool about it. That's how bad he wants you back." He laughs heartily, "The best part is he's acting like you're playing hard to get, when in reality you don't want to be with him!"
I don't tell D, or J and K for that matter, but when I catch myself thinking of D I remind myself that he doesn't want me, that he had nothing but criticism for me, that he doesn't want to do anything with me. He only wanted to have sex, that's all. Then I remind myself of all the criticism he had for my body and my performance in bed. It's sobering, leaves me feeling unattractive, empty, alone, and sad, but it keeps me from going back to D.
I don't tell D any of that because it wouldn't make a difference. I don't know how he defines "friend", but from the one's I've met, I can see that I don't fit.
Like H, it's apparent that D isn't ready to let me go. H was smart enough to apologize and make promises. D only looks for weak spots to slip back in to my heart, not because he loves me, but because alone sucks. I dismantle his reasons for contacting me, reminding him that he has enough platonic friends, that he can find his own photos. I remind him that he wouldn't do anything with me anyway so there's not point in being anything more than acquaintances. Devil me catches the sigh and reaches over to pat my arm. It's all part of disentangling myself from his bullshit. I don't need to live the lie. It's demeaning. When I close the note, I go to bed and sleep in spite of the pounding headache I have.
**********
If only I could abandon this shell as a decoy. I could go far away where he could never find me.
