Empty Whiskey Bottles

He found me rocking back and forth in our bedroom closet, silent tears soaking my jeans. My heart was breaking. The man I loved, and who was supposed to love me, was manipulating my world to serve his selfish desires. I was being shoved aside as I began to fight against his words and actions; questioning the purpose he felt he was fulfilling. The ring I wore had lost its luster a long time ago, but I had only just noticed its darkness. A twenty year old had crept between us, having “stolen his heart”. I needed to let go; to move forward with my life. He represented all the pain in my life as he milked my innocence and young naivety. Someone else had taken my place as I grew into an independent young woman; the high school girl craving attention had grown up beyond his reach.

“Shara…” he whispered, emotionless.

I chose to ignore his presence, for now and as long as I could muster. Resentment rumbled from the depths and reared its head at the man who was my husband on paper, if you could call him a man. A worthless human being who took advantage of me in every way possible. The person who refused to see me in the hospital when he pushed me towards killing myself. He was the reason my new bottle of Jameson was always empty. There seemed to be no way out of this life, and yet I knew I had to escape his grasp on my heart. I was trying not to care – not to love him, but damnit, I did. He was the evil entity in my life, and his hold on my soul was deadly.

“You are nothing to me…” I mumbled through the tears.

“You don’t mean that,” the concern on his face was pulled from nothing.

I knew that expression was not real. It was part of the plan, but it tugged at my heart anyways. It made my heart want to give him another chance. His fling, I was sending back home and perhaps we could start over. The flash of hope was brief and calming. If he was willing to give us another chance, maybe I should consider his offer. What if he changed? What if he begged for forgiveness for the things he had done in the past? He extended his hand to help me from the dark closet and to my feet.

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