What’s the point? What’s the fucking point of any of it! I try, god knows I try but I sometimes don’t know why I do it, why I even bother any more.

There’s no sense in fighting it, it’s as if I don’t exist. Why do I stay here, only to spend my days ignored, passed over again and again, facing the humiliation I suffer every time I watch you with him, the visible smile light up your distinguished features when he is around? The bitterness rising up inside me, taunting me beyond distraction because that’s how I want you to feel about me as well.

Why?

Because ... because I was stupid enough to fall for someone I knew, deep down, would never be able to give himself only to me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break that bond between you and him; a bond which went deeper than I can appreciate, than I can even understand. Not that simply between lovers ... something deeper, more profound than I can mean to you.

A bond the like that we have never had.

And when the time came to choose, I knew I would be the one to be left in the cold.

I never thought about the future. I ... we always lived for the moment and our time together felt good. It felt more right than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life and I didn’t question it for fear of losing it to reason. Never for once guessing that our world would come crashing down like this. Looking back, we were too foolish not to realise that one of us might need more than this, more any of the others could give him.

And now that the time is here, what do you do? I see you visually shy away when I try to talk to you about it, and, as unbearable as it is for me, I can’t face seeing you any more. The hurt is too much and the feeling that you don’t want me there is like a dagger straight through my heart.

In your calm and dulcet tones, you tell me that I’m being unreasonable. That I have nothing to fear. “Things don’t have to change,” you tell me, as if we can continue like this. Like we always have.

But it ain’t true, I’ve finally realised that. And I’m sick of being second-best, and you both know that I am. You’re both betrayed by yourselves, your soulful eyes telling me the words I know you can’t bear to speak. I can’t meet your gaze without seeing those sorrowful eyes burning into me with a sense of resigned pity. But this isn’t my fault, I’m not responsible for changing us, for rocking our relationship. I won’t take responsibility. And you can’t make me.

It’s written in your face, which seems to say, ‘why have you done it?’, as if I’ve upset everything, caused our love to falter. But it’s happening by itself, I’m just the only one not blind to it. You stand there, watching me suffocate as if nothing’s wrong, not realising that every denial is like a blow to my face and I honestly don’t know how much more of a beating I can take before I fall ...

Of course, you try to hide it, pretend nothing’s wrong, avoid the subject completely, go about the days with your usual professionalism, as if I’m making it all up. I guess my outbursts haven’t helped. My temper tantrums as I shouted, screamed, swore at you, venting my anger in frustration and hurting you beyond measure when all I wanted was to be with you rather than forced away by my jealousy and your seeming indifference.

You didn’t say anything to me. There was no recrimination, were no accusations, no glaring looks or irate responses when I turned up, blind drunk in the early hours of the morning, threatening to let out our secret, the three of us, if you didn’t end it with him, if you didn’t put me first. Threatening to tell his wife, ruin his life and hers as he’s ruined mine. The fact that I would have destroyed innocent lives in this selfish want for retribution paled into significance. You allowed me to throw cruel insults and watched impassively as I threatened to hurt him for coming between us, and you for letting it separate us.

You know full well I blame him, even though, in truth, it’s probably not his fault. I thought I could handle it but I guess I’m weaker than I thought. But when I tell you my fears, all I get is that I’m being cynical, paranoid, delusional.

And that night, when you had every right to kick me out into the corridor, to tell me we were finally over after my shameful display, you surprised me again when you took me into your arms, not resisting when, not being able to hold back my sobs, I collapsed into tears; all my anger dissolving away into feelings of self-pity and self-loathing for being so utterly stupid and selfish.

But you still know I’m right. Things have changed.

Our personal life has started to creep into our professional relationship, or perhaps it’s the other way around. I don’t know. He seems to get all the lucky breaks, the good fortune, the support I wish I received but never quite seem to. Hell, maybe I am getting cynical. Too many years here is wreaking havoc on my perception. My judgement too clouded with jealousy to focus on what’s really there.

But you’ve done nothing to ease my suspicions, nothing to relieve my fears.

And your silence hurts more than your actions. More than seeing you with him. Especially when I remember that night together.

Now, I’m the only one who’s alone.

Sitting by the window in my bleak hotel room, looking out but not seeing the light outside, just the darkness which is swallowing my heart and no matter how I try I can’t shake the feeling of guilt and of rejection. Sanity begs me to leave and put distance between both of you but my pride’s too strong to listen. My heart’s even stronger. For all the pain I feel now would melt into nothing compared with the agony I would feel if we were separated.

You’ve made your choice, even if you won’t admit it to me but I need to hear it from you, I have to hear your voice speak those words or else I won’t believe we’re through. Tell me that we are over, that you would rather be with him than me and then I will leave, you know I will.

But tell me you want me and I’ll stay here forever.

I don’t belong anywhere else, and you know that. You’ve always known I wouldn’t leave, that I wouldn’t give up so easily. The many times you have told me you admire my passion, my determination. And in my heart, I know that I can’t live without you. Without both of you. But you most of all.

I’m staying. That’s my choice.

So, Ron, what’s yours?

~The End.