Letting Go of You

It’s a complicated decision, letting go of five years of marriage and eight years in total of being with someone. Unfortunately, I just don’t think I can deal with Amarah anymore. In my younger years I was a bit of a womanizer and cared little for the women I dealt with. Those days when women were just another notch under my belt changed the day I met her and it introduced me to the type of connection that I thought would’ve lasted. My past self would’ve moved on like it was nothing, but this version of myself just can’t. I wonder if I’m even the same person anymore.

“Here’s your drink,” the bartender said. “Thank you,” I replied.

I’d been sitting at the bar for around five minutes, just in thought before the drink arrived. I’m somewhat of a regular so the bartender already knew what I wanted. I sipped on my drink of choice which was a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks and continued contemplating. While I there minding my business, I felt a tap on my left shoulder that broke my contemplation. It was a young woman, who looked mid twenty-ish, very attractive, clothed in a burgundy dress that highlighted her extraordinary curves.

“Hi, my name is Ashley, and I thought you might want some company,” she commented.

“That’s very kind of you Ashley, looking out for the lonely,” I remarked and she laughed in response.

“Does my Mr. Lonely have a name?” she asked.

“It’s Dustin,” I replied. I’ve seen this before. It’s not the first I’ve reenacted this scene. Conversation happens, smiles are exchanged, slight touches slowly become firm grasps on knees and the tipsy thoughts take over until we’re both naked in either the bar bathroom or my car, where there’s less communication with words. After the fun, we exchange numbers. It never passes this moment; however, these side quests are the closest thing I have to my past life. I head into my car, and guilt grabs me by the chest, squeezing it as hard as it can.

“Why can’t I just have fun without the guilt anymore?” I openly asked myself.

I drove off hoping to leave everything I felt at the location, instead it followed. I was never able to let go of my past self, even though I married Amarah and exchanged vows with her. I thought once we were committed on this level, the change would naturally happen; I was wrong. The infidelity started before we got married and continued throughout our time together. I got home and walked through the door with Amarah waiting patiently with a knife in hand ready to confront me.

“What girl were you with tonight, Dustin?” Amarah asked while holding the knife pointing it in my direction.

“You really want to know, or would you like to skip to the part where you stab me?” I asked in a cheeky tone.

“You’re so fucking disrespectful. I gave you so many years of my life and this is my repayment. Loyalty should be reciprocated, but instead it’s repaid with you coming home smelling like women’s perfume, or maybe your phone blowing up with text messages from Caitlin, Suzanne, or whatever bitch’s name talking about how good you were. Such a fucking stud.” Amarah expressed while gesturing with the knife.

I sighed. “I’m going to lay down. I can’t deal with this shit right now,” I responded while heading to the stairs.

“Did you have fun Dustin, breaking my heart?” She asked with tears beginning to paint her face.

I’ve seen women cry a thousand times. I always looked at it as a ploy to get their way and ignored it. When Amarah cried, it hurt. It felt as though she’d stabbed me with that knife, or maybe worse. I continued up the stairs while she gradually broke down into tears and fell to her knees.

“I FUCKING HATE YOU DUSTIN!” She screamed while in tears.

I’m starting to think this is never going to end. It’s been going on for a year now. I would come home whenever I felt like, and then there Amarah was waiting up for me. It’s not my faulty she wasn’t enough to keep me faithful; that’s what I used to say but these conflicting feelings I’ve been having has led to a great deal of self-reflection and now my perspective has changed. Truth is I never learned how to be faithful and I’m starting to come to terms that who I thought I would’ve become when I entered this relationship never existed. I had gotten to the room and taken off my clothes then headed to the bathroom to take a shower. I turned on the water and let it pour over me while in deep thought. My thoughts were broken by the sound of footsteps entering the bathroom.

“You broke me Dustin, and now I can’t be fixed,” Amarah said while taking a seat on the bathroom counter.

“I know Amarah. I know,” I replied.

“You don’t know anything,”

“I didn’t initially but our relationship has taught me a lot about myself. I’m broken and because of that I broke you too. The version of myself that wanted things to work struggled to let go of the parts of me that breaks women.”

Amarah remained silent.

“I’m sorry Amarah, I really am,” I replied as the water from the shower covered my tears.

“You did the right thing, asking for a divorce. I didn’t deserve you.”

“You’re wrong Dustin, so wrong,” Amarah got up off the bathroom counter and slowly headed in my direction.

“If I divorce you, then you’ll just keep breaking women,” she said while approaching.

Amarah had gotten to the entrance of the shower which was a sliding glass door.

“I need to save women from you before you destroy more of us,” she said after she slid the glass door open. “I have to save them.”

Amarah reached around her back with her right arm. I peeked in the mirror that was angled perfectly behind her back which revealed she’d slid the knife she had downstairs into the back of her pants. She removed it from her pants quickly and stabbed me, not once, not twice, but multiple times in the chest. I fell while attempting to grab onto her but failed.

“What the fuck Amarah?” I asked while blood drained from my chest. I had fallen onto my back, and my vision began to blur. Tears ran from eyes but I think saw a smirk on Amarah’s face. The scary image of a woman scorned would be the last thing I saw.

Maybe I deserve this. Maybe if I was able to let go of the old me, this wouldn’t have happened. Letting go is hard, but it can cost you.