The Count of Monte CristoChapter 58 M Noirtier de Villefort
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Praying For Hope free porn video
Since we met in the summer, it was somehow appropriate, befitting to the season and to the warm temperatures that we should part in the summer. Only, this time, the weather had changed for the worst and there was a significant difference in the climate. Even though the day of our meeting and the day of his departure had similar temperatures approaching 90 degrees, the fever I felt, when finally meeting him, had cooled to an icy frost by the time he left me.
‘I’m sorry, Liz.’
‘Bye-bye Bill.’
It’s funny how circumstances can change things, even my perception of the weather and the effects of the temperature were at the mercy of my emotions. Basking in the bright sunshine of a warm and cloudless summer’s day, when we first met, loving life and loving him, it was the kind of day that everything felt so right and nothing could possibly go wrong. Love at first sight, feeling good about everything and everyone, I was in love.
‘I love you.’
Then, five years later, fuming in the humidity of a hot and hopeless summer’s day, hating life, hating him, and hating myself by the time he left me, it was the kind of day that everything felt so wrong and nothing could possibly go right. Depressed and disillusioned, feeling bad about everything and everyone, I was alone, again.
‘This sucks!’
If I were to look to Heaven, detach my feelings of disbelief, and embrace the delusion of wishing upon a star, I’d believe that the stars were aligned for me, when we met that fateful day. There was something in the air that made our love affair feel so right. In the way he looked, he was tall and proportionally well built. It was obvious that he worked out.
‘Twinkle, twinkle little star.’
Reminding me of my Dad, when my Dad was younger, and maybe being in love or just missing my Dad, I had imagined that Bill smelled musky and of flavored tobacco and aged whiskey, even though he didn’t smoke or drink hard liquor. Steadfast in his political beliefs, resolute in his religious convictions, and anal with his routine, he was hard, yet mushy enough around the edges for me to find his soft spot and for him to comfort me, when I needed a big hug. He made me feel so special, whenever he held me in his arms and I knew, finally, he was the one and this was good and for keeps.
‘I love you so much.’
Thinking that I’d never find the right person to begin another long-term relationship, after a failed marriage with a drunken husband, who cheated on me with my best friend, my sister, my neighbor, and finally the babysitter, now there’s a story I should write.
‘Do you know how difficult it is to get a good babysitter?’
I swore that this time around would be different, but I’m still a sucker for love.
‘Get out! Go! Leave! I don’t want someone who doesn’t love me. I deserve better than you. Just go. Now!’
Tired of the bars, the liars, and the cheaters, older now and knowing who I wanted, as much as who I didn’t want, the man that I’d give myself to, this time, would be my forever soul mate. Only, I soon found out that nothing is forever.
‘You’re married? I don’t believe it. With how many kids? Asshole.’
Figuring by corresponding with someone before meeting them, screening them before being blinded by the physical attraction of them and blindsided by their eventual and final, honest confession, after getting involved with, yet, another loser, I joined a dating service.
‘You have mail.’
It was the perfect time of my life, when we started our online relationship. Even now, when my mood mires me down in a disappointed funk and a depressed muck, it still makes me happy to think of the day, the Fourth of July, when I met William for the first time, finally. The excitement I felt for him that night surpassed even the colorful brilliance and explosive sounds of the fireworks that he took me to see.
‘Happy Fourth of July! God bless America!’
Much like the fantastic display of fireworks, only more personally powerful, our first kiss was awash with an eruption of my emotions and his lips softened my heart with the possibilities of a passionate romance. I fell for him that night under the stars.
‘Look at me. I’m shaking.’
Bathed in a kaleidoscope of color, lit up by the flashing images, bombarded with the sound of my beating heart that beat even louder than the exploding fireworks, as if this brilliant show was all designed just for me, it was magical. Hearing the explosion in the distance and seeing the radiating and luminous colors burst, and then dissipate, before disappearing, the remnants of the smoke that wafted through the air could have been coming out of my ears, when he pulled me close and parted my lips with his tongue.
‘Kiss me again.’
Hotter for him than I’ve ever been for anyone, but not one to even kiss on a first date, I returned his kiss with as much passion as he showed for me. Wanting him and wanting to make a lasting impression, not wanting to lose him, had he not been such a gentleman, had he asked for and expected me to have sex with him, I would have.
‘Do you wanna see my tits?’
Wanting this relationship to start without pretenses, after writing back and forth to him online for months, I felt that I had known him for years. Holding nothing back and telling him everything, all my secrets, things that I never told my ex-husband, my priest, or even my therapist, I was already crazy about him.
‘Wait, so you were naked under the kangaroo outfit, when he stripped it off of you?’
I thought things with him would be different and they were for a while. Then, after agreeing to live together, once we were comfortable enough with one another, we fell in a pattern of taking one another for granted and not appreciating what each one brought to the relationship.
‘Did you just fart?’
Now impossible to separate the two days, the conflicting, bittersweet contrast of them wired in my brain forever, as soon as I remember the day I met him, I remember the day he left me. A month after our fifth anniversary of first meeting, it was a hot and humid day in late August that he left. Laden with disillusionment, the air made stale by the stench of smoggy pollution, that day was made even heavier with the absence of hope.
‘Happy Anniversary!’
Hope for a second chance. Hope for a new beginning. Hope that the love he surely felt for me would make him stay and not leave. And if he decided not to stay, hope for another relationship to make me forget this one.
‘I need hope!’
Hoping beyond hope and longing for a glimmer of hope, desperate for hope, I needed hope to cling onto for comfort and to get me through my day. Only, it was hopeless. There was no hope. Not taking care in what I asked for, wishing upon a shooting star, I fell to my knees and prayed to God for hope.
‘Please dear God in Heaven, I need hope to make it through my day. Give me hope today. Give me hope tomorrow. Give me hope forever. I can’t live without hope. I must have hope. If you never grant me another wish, you must give me hope.’
Comparing my perception of the weather on those two days five years apart, our relationship had soured much more than the polluted air. Yet, even the stale air that day was a climatic reminder of everything that had fouled, as if having rotted in the hot sun. Completely decayed, it was poison to the touch. With everything now ruined, how could it have spoiled so fast?
‘What the fuck happened?’
Feeling empty and depressed, feeling abandoned and betrayed, deranged with despair, our love affair was over and he was gone, gone, long gone for good. After believing he’d always be there in my life for me, but for Ruthie, my cat, he took his Bulldog, Buster, and I was alone, again.
‘I’m going to miss that dog.’
Not wanting to live without him, dreading being alone with my bad self souring my mood and ruining my normally pl
easant and jovial disposition, I stood outside giving him one last little wave hoping he’d have second thoughts about leaving and would turn around to give our relationship one last chance and stay. Unfortunately, he wasn’t one to look back and one not to stay where he wasn’t wanted, only he was the one who didn’t want me. I still wanted him.
‘Don’t go. Please, don’t go.’
He never saw me standing there looking so small and so lost without him to brighten my life, as he used to do when we first met. Now that the fireworks were finally over, he was leaving me for good. And I knew full well, unless he had a change of heart, unless he left something important behind, like me, that I’d never see him again.
‘Bye, Bill.’
Then, as his truck, with the last of his possessions, everything that was of importance to him, but for me, his Bowflex, his recliner, his pinball machine, his big screen TV, and his dog pulled out of my driveway for the last time and rounded the corner, my radio played Bonnie Raitt’s song, I Can’t Make You Love Me.
Turn down the lights, Turn down the bed, Turn down these voices inside my head. Lay down with me, Tell me no lies, Just hold me close, Don’t patronize. Don’t patronize me.
Unable to bear hearing the ensuing chorus, my first impulse was to run upstairs, pull the radio out of the wall, fling it out the window, and watch it smash to pieces, so much like this relationship. Yet, when I heard the words and listened to them, as if hearing them for the first time, even though I mindlessly heard and would even sing to this song a million times before, the song crumbled me.
‘Cause I can’t make you love me if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t. Here in the dark, in these final hours I will lay down my heart and I’ll feel the power, But you won’t, No you won’t. ‘Cause I can’t make you love me If you don’t.
As I sat on the front steps paying more attention to the lyrics than I ever had before, while already missing William, I knew that this song played for me and was my first step in letting him go and getting over him.
I’ll close my eyes, then I won’t see The love you don’t feel When you’re holdin me. Mornin will come And I’ll do what’s right, Just give me till then To give up this fight. And I will give up this fight.
Like the emotional basket case that I was, sobbing and sobbing, I swore that this was the last time I’d fall for another guy again. I loved him, I truly did, and still do. Only, how long can I beat my head against the wall trying to get him to notice me, to talk to me, to give me affection, and to give me his attention? When in love, the excitement that I felt then, paled in comparison to the pain from the rejection that I feel now.
‘Cause I can’t make you love me if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t. Here in the dark, in these final hours I will lay down my heart and I’ll feel the power, But you won’t, No you won’t. ‘Cause I can’t make you love me If you don’t.’
Who am I kidding? I’m a sucker for love. I’m not the type of woman who can be alone for long. I need someone in my life. The affection or lack thereof of an independent cat doesn’t translate well on a cold night in November, when wishing I had a warm body next to me to spoon or someone to talk to before going to bed at night and waking up with in the morning. Then, there are those days that you just need a hug, an understanding look, a pat on the ass, a kind word, a shoulder to shed a tear, a big, wet kiss, or a head banging fuck.
‘Good morning. How’d you sleep? Breakfast is ready. Supper is ready. What’s on TV tonight? Good night. Sweet dreams. How are you? Are you feeling okay? Where’ve you been? I was worried. You look great. I’m horny. I love you. I love you. I love you.’
It’s comforting to know the one I love, the one who loves me, is sleeping beside me to help me renew my spirit and to help me make it through my tomorrows. No one wants to be alone. We all need someone to shoulder the burden of our difficult lives, while helping them to persevere through their problems, too. With someone in my life, I’d have more of a reason to get up and make coffee and breakfast for two instead of only for one. Only…
‘I can’t make you love me, if you don’t.’
I thought he loved me. I was a fool to believe that he couldn’t live without me. The same, old story, I thought our relationship was solid and we were just having some minor problems with communication. I never saw the signs of the demise of our love affair that I can so clearly see now that he’s gone.
‘What is it? What’s wrong? What can I do to help?’
I actually thought that, if we could just talk about what was bothering the both of us, with the love we felt for one another, we could fix whatever was wrong. Only, I found out later, after I made a fool out of myself, that I was the problem. I was his problem. The problem was me, so he said.
‘You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.’
I told him that I needed something from him to show me that he loved me. I needed him to give me a sign to make me feel wanted and loved, at least that, at least give me that much. Instead of coming home, flopping on the couch, and turning on the television, I needed him to talk to me. I needed to know about his day. The time he spent away from me, counting the time he spent traveling to and from work, was longer than the time he spent with me.
‘Here in the dark, in these final hours, I will lay down my heart and I’ll feel the power, but you won’t, no you won’t.’
In trying to talk to him to get him to open up to me, hitting him over the head with how I felt, I brought the reality of our failed relationship to a head. Maybe I should have left it alone and not complained. This relationship may have continued drifting and languishing on its own for a few more years, before it eventually self-destructed. Maybe I did myself a favor.
‘Bill, I’m bored. Talk to me. Say something, anything. Hello? Earth to Bill.’
Five years is a long time, a lifetime of memories and I’ve wasted enough time and too much of my life with him and with my husband before him. It’s time for me to move on and it’s time I found someone who loves me, appreciates me, and wants to be with me for the person I am. Even though I want and need someone, I don’t have the energy to do it all over again with another man. Only, I’m so sad, too sad to think of anyone else, but Bill.
‘I can’t make you love me, if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.’
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get the importance of having someone in his life who loves him, unconditionally, and he had that with me. What’s the use? It’s over, he’s gone, and he’s never coming back.
‘I give up.’
He used to call me from work every day and we’d talk about our day with the phone call ending with, ‘I love you.’
Now, I have to twist his arm and make an issue of it for him to call me. I worry wondering if he even made it to work or if he’s dead on the highway. Most days he tells me that he was too busy with work to call.
‘Bullshit! Even the President of the United States takes the time to talk to his wife.’
Then, when he tells me that he has to work overtime or work a Saturday, it’s always an argument.
‘I didn’t have time to call you,’ he’d say. ‘I didn’t even take time to have lunch.’
Yet, he never looked hungry. He never lost weight. Matter of fact, judging by the weight he gained, I don’t think he ever went without a meal. I can’t trust a liar and if he was lying about something as unimportant as not having the time for lunch, then what else is he lying about? Was he lying to me about how he felt or didn’t feel about me? Obviously, now that he’s gone, he was.
‘For someone who doesn’t have the time, doesn’t take the time to have lunch, how you could gain weight and when will you have time for me?’
Now, everythin
g is a problem. Everything is an argument. Everything is an issue. What he freely did on his own before to show his love for me then, is a big deal to ask him to do now.
‘Is it too much to ask you for a lousy kiss in the morning and before we go to bed at night?’
We don’t talk. I talk at him and he barely listens. With his eyes on the television more than me, he nods his head without saying a word to carry his part of a one-sided conversation. It takes two to make a relationship and he was long gone emotionally from this relationship for years, before he left me physically.
‘Bill the house is on fire, your dog is dead, and they stole your truck out of the driveway.’
‘What did you say about my truck?’
Now that I look back, it was my fault. Cooking and cleaning for him, doing his laundry and giving him a roof over his head, I made it easy for him to stay and impossible for him to leave. He had no reason to leave, until I got in his face and until I asked him to love me. Leave me or love me, it’s your choice. It wasn’t a bad choice, but I guess he thought it was.
‘Why? What happened? How did it all go wrong so fast?’
I don’t understand and he can’t even take the time to explain any of it to me. How could he suddenly not have any feelings for me? He would have been content just to allow this empty relationship to continue, so long as I didn’t complain. Only, deep down inside, I knew it was over. I just couldn’t face the reality of my life without him in it.
‘At least I have someone here in body, if not in spirit.’
It was my birthday last month and he asked me what I wanted for my birthday. In a mood because he hadn’t talked to me for days, would rather talk to the mailman, the neighbor, his ex-wife, who he hates by the way, anyone but me, I told him that it was inappropriate for him to buy me anything for me birthday. I figured that would generate some dialogue and a better gift, even.
‘Please don’t buy me anything for my birthday.’
‘Okay,’ he said without even looking up from the newspaper.
Okay? One word, two syllables, no argument, he just agreed to give me my way, when he never does anything I ask him to do. So, he didn’t. He didn’t buy me anything for my birthday. Allow me to clarify, he bought me nothing for my birthday.
‘It’s my birthday? Where’s my birthday gift? It must be a surprise.’
I still have a difficult time understanding how he could do that, especially with all the money I spent buying him thoughtful gifts for his birthday. Yeah, I told him not to buy me anything, but I was hurt and angry at the time. I didn’t really mean for him not to buy me anything.
‘I can’t believe that cheap bastard didn’t buy me a gift.’
I had a difficult time believing that the one, special person in my life, the person I depend on to help me get through my day emotionally and spiritually didn’t think enough of me to buy me a birthday gift to celebrate my birthday? I was crushed. I was hurt. I was angry.
‘I still can’t believe he didn’t buy me a gift. He’s got to be kidding? I guess he doesn’t want supper or the house cleaned or his laundry done.’
He gave me a card, not even a special card or a romantic card, it was just a generic birthday card with the words, ‘Love, Bill.’ I’m surprised he didn’t write, ‘Regards, Bill or just Bill.’
The word love he signed was as meaningless as Hallmark’s Happy Birthday sentiment. He didn’t even take the time to write anything in the card. There was nothing cute, or funny, or meaningful for me to read and that I could take away with me to cherish later. He just left it on the toilet, so I’d see it when I’d wake up and go in to pee. Hitting me offensively, how awful it was to find my birthday card in the bathroom perched on the toilet seat. Appropriately, I should have defecated on it and handed it back to him.
‘Here’s the return of your smelly card. Thanks for a shitty birthday.’
Instead of being excited and looking forward to going out to do something fun and memorable, there was nothing happy about my birthday. Then, again, this is one birthday that I’ll never forget.
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