Genre:
Drama
PG-13
Contains mentions and/or descriptions of:
cheating, divorce, alcohol, sex workers, emotional abuse, strong language
Synopsis:
Allison was alone, with two babies to raise and a few bottles of wine. Tired, angry, and alone. Cursing the winds for listening to her heart and marrying Elliot, because now she was divorced at twenty-eight.
Have you ever felt broken? But not in an artistic, lyrical, depressive way, just physically broken without any meaning or reasoning, like a glass that accidentally slipped from someone’s hand and fell to the ground. You can even pause that one scene in your mind: the very moment the glass touches the floor, it hasn’t break yet, it’s whole, perfectly fine. But you know at that point that there’s nothing you can do stop that fucking glass from breaking, and it’s in slow motion, frame by frame the bottom starts tearing, and the cracks rush through the perfectly fine glass until… It’s just pieces on the floor, and you knew it was going to happen, but there was nothing left to do. Have you ever felt exactly that way?
Those were the last months of my marriage, and I’ll tell you, it is torture watching everything you build to last forever falling to the ground and not being able to do anything to stop it. I loved that motherfucking asshole, piece of trash of a human being. I knew who he was before I married him, and honestly I did it anyways because I know I can be a huge bitch too. It was so clear back them, like going to the supermarket on a hot July summer to buy crystal glasses for our new home.
You know the funniest thing is, not even one of my crystal glasses have broken to this day, I guess my marriage was more fragile than crystal…
Elliot, if you’re reading this, I want you to know that I’m smashing all these glasses as I type this, all twelve of them. And don’t come with that bullshit about fixing things with gold, because somethings are not worth the time and effort.
Who am I kidding, he’s not reading this, he’s probably with someone new already (newer than those prostitutes I caught him with in our bed). I don’t think he understood that to have a polygamous marriage you actually need to stay married to all the women?
I was his, what? Sixth wife? Also his sixth divorce, in less than ten years, that gotta be some record. Maybe he is that stupid, or doesn’t get how a polygamous relationship should work. I honestly have no idea what goes on inside his head anymore.
But I did, at one point.
At one point he looked at me as a convict looks at the sun after being release from jail after twenty-five years. He used to worship me as if I was the light of his life, and all the other five ex-wives would trashed me online, because they knew he treated me differently than he ever treated them.
That’s why I married him, I thought he was done horsing around, I thought he actually wanted me. I thought, for a moment that I was truly made for loving him, and only him because that’s how he loved me. Our past didn’t matter, our ages didn’t matter; although, now I understand why starting a relationship at sixteen with a forty year old man is beyond illegal, it’s just poor judgment.
But he was there for me when I had to walk through the courthouse, he payed for my lawyers, he protected me from the press who hunted me as if I was the bad guys for suing the quarterback of my university’s team. He drugged me at a party, he took me to his bedroom… I didn’t remember a thing when I woke up, but I knew what happened. And the hospital exames just proved me worst fear.
But Elliot was there to throw blankets over my barbed wire. He was there, and everyone loves him, respects him. I might have picked a fight with the popular boy, but I had Batman fighting for me. I only won that case because of Elliot.
I still remember waking up on November the fourth, two thousand and fourteen, the light coming throw the windows. I was I was only twenty two years old, alone at the Four Seasons Hotel in New York City, outside the trees were bare and the leaves danced to the song of the wind. I had room service bring me my breakfast, and along came twenty eight red roses and a handwritten note from him; “Save the date!”.
I had breakfast alone, while looking at my wedding dress with golden details and Swarovski crystals embroidered, I could see our happy life reflecting from those little crystals. Everyone said it would never work, but I knew deep inside my soul he was the one for me; my best friend, my protector, my everyday supporter, he was everything to me.
Now he’s nothing, but the inconvenience of cleaning the floor after drunkenly crying and breaking twelve crystal glasses. I wish I could go to bed now, clean it tomorrow, but I have his kids living in my house, I got to clean up this mess before one of them step on the broken marriage on the kitchen floor and slice one of their little feet. They are growing up like me and Elliot did; mommy and daddy hating each other. We never wanted this.
Everyone can agree that I am not an easy person, but I gave him the best I had; that part of myself I had saved up since I was a little girl, cultivated into a garden of love and kindness. I gave him my best days, and he never knew about my bad days because I hid the worse part from him, and he would say I was a little low, hug me a bit tighter, for a few minutes longer. I didn’t have the luxury to have bad days, I. was his ride or die.
I did everything he asked with a smile: unreasonably high heels and long dresses, with the sixties queen makeup and the hair that doesn’t move. I was his little doll, and he loved to buy me clothes, and choosing what I was going to wear. And eat. And do, generally.
After I had the twins, he *strongly suggested* that I should get plastic surgery. He said he was worried about my self-esteem, that I wouldn’t fit inside my pretty dresses anymore. I believed him, I didn’t want to get anything done, but I believe he knew better.
I gave him so much of myself that, even his friends would say no one would put up with his shit like I did, no one would love him like I did, or forgive him after his terrible tantrums like I did. But when I got back from a lovely trip to Italy with my twins and my parents, I open my bedroom door to *her* bouncing, like one of those bouncing balls (if she wasn’t flat chested she would have gotten a black eye), that’s where I drew the line.
But one wasn’t enough to satisfied the great Elliot, no. He wasn’t happy just laying in his back doing nothing while Bouncy Blond worked for her pocket money, Elliot is a star, a God in his own mind and he needed to be praised, celebrated, watched, so he invited Bouncy Blond’s best friend: Watching Lola.
I’d tell him to go fuck himself, but he’d enjoy that… But I’ll do it anyways:
Fuck you, Elliot! (If you’re reading this)
And once you’re done think about your little doll all dressed up for you. Think about me naked too. Think about me happy, laughing, living without the master marionettist. Think about me free. Oh, and think about me falling in love again; with myself, with my children, with life itself! And maybe, just maybe there’s someone else. Someone new. Someone different. Let that sink in, Elliot.
Author’s note:
I hope you enjoy the story, and please let me know if you wanna hear more about Elliot and Allison!
All characters and plot are Copyrighted © and owned by the author “Alice Almeida is @lovinsunshine97” , 2021