“He’s not treating you right. You deserve so much better than that.”

It was my birthday, and I was going to have supper with J and her man (boyfriend back then, today they are married). I was turning 22, and I was going through hell.

I was in a relationship with the man who abused me.

This was shortly before I left him, a few weeks, actually. Emotionally, I was a wreck.

We were setting things up in the kitchen, J, L-P and I, chatting away, when M called J. She stepped away and when she returned she was still talking to him — a bit awkwardly.

She turned to me and asked, ‘So, M wants to invite himself. Is that cool?’

‘I mean, it’s been forever, we’re all adults now. I’m game.’

Apparently, M didn’t mind either and he figured it would be a good opportunity to apologise.

When he arrived, he acted as though he had never ever been mad at me in his life. We both apologised for our immature recklessness back in high school.

‘So are we good?’
‘Yeah, why not.’

And then the flirting started. ‘Good, because you’re even more beautiful today than you were then.’

We joked, bugged each other, teased each other. M and I even poked fun at each other.

‘Yeah, well, I don’t go around kissing my boyfriend’s friends BEFORE breaking up with them.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t go around crushing on childhood friends while I’m dating someone.’

And we reminisced too. ‘I honestly hoped you wouldn’t puke on me. I was low-key worried that you would, though.’

J chimed in, ‘You guys were so loud, I could hardly sleep. Your kissing sounded like slurping.’

‘I wish I had been there to witness the cringe,’ teased L-P, ‘I’m kind of jealous not to share this memory with you all.’

It was all so much fun.

M probed a bit about my current boyfriend and J spoke up about her observations. I talked about my confusion about the way he acts and the things he says. No one was outright saying “He’s abusing you” but they were heavily implying it.

A part of me thinks J wanted to help M and me rekindle our relationship so it would help me leave the abuser. And it did. Sometimes you DO need a rebound.

M offered to drive me home that night.

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‘If you puke, just not on my new running shoes, okay?’

We were sitting on a swing at his family’s chalet. His family is also my best friend’s family, though this was in a different town. We were semi-camping.

My best friend J, a good friend of ours, and I biked to the town where J’s cousin M lived. And not far was a little chalet-type trailer with a park-like backyard. This was at the start of summer.

I’ve spoken about M before — he was the guy who was stolen from me by the girl who broke my nose.

He’s actually a sweet guy, so much so that I dated him twice.

The first time, I was 16, and we had eaten some fast food that wasn’t sitting well with me. I thought I was going to be sick. I kept moaning and clutching my stomach.

He stayed out on the long swing with me all night, holding my hand, the other wrapped around my shoulder, as we gently rocked.

‘If you puke, just not on my new running shoes, okay,’ he said to me.

We had been flirting a bit before that, and then more openly. It had been very clear to my friends that I had taken quite a liking to M, and then he made it clear he’d taken a liking to me.

He played the guitar too. He’s the one who introduced me to The Offspring’s music — they became my favourite band (though they switch places from time to time with my number two fav band, Linkin Park).

M also played some songs for us. He enjoyed playing the song Crazy by Aerosmith. And even if I’m not a big fan of that band, I was enthralled by his playing.

As I sat there on the swing, terrified of being sick, M stroked my hair, whispering sweet nothings to me. We chatted all night long. And then he turned to me, his hand on my chin, tilting my face up to his, and kissed me tenderly.

‘Courageous,’ I told him. ‘I might be sick.’

‘I like to be daring sometimes, though I trust you’ll turn your face away if you are.’

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This story is a direct complement to “A Day In the Life of A Romance Writer.” This story is written from Hubby’s POV.

The alarm wakes me and I am instantly broody. I hate waking up so early to grind all day at work at a job I’ve been at for so long. But, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

(Enjoy this next part of the story accompanied by this song.)

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the day ahead.

As I inhale, I feel my wife’s soft hands on my skin. She moans softly, waking. She knows I’ll be leaving the bed where she will continue to sleep, alone, and with not as much warmth.

It pains me to have to leave her side. I take her hand and she smiles, slowly opening her eyes. She doesn’t need to say it, I know by the way she’s looking at me, but she says it anyway, expressing her desire for me. It breaks my heart to turn her down.

Some mornings, when I don’t have to be at the office, I allow some time to indulge in our love with the passion that I feel for her. But not this morning, I can’t, no matter how much I wish I could sleep longer, hold her in my arms and make love to her just to make her go crazy for me in the ways that make her screams fill me with elation.

I sigh, and she knows. I express I wish there was time and she seems satisfied with that, but I can see in her eyes the disappointment that I must now get up.

She moves aside to let me do my thing, and where her arms were wrapped around me now feel cold. I want her warmth again. But looking at the clock, I know there’s no time to waste.

(Enjoy this next part of the story accompanied by this song starting at 1:38.)

When I get to work, it’s meeting after meeting. At least I don’t have to decide in what order to do these tasks. I lead my team and guide the programmers working with me. I explore solutions and express my discontent with some issues we’ve been having. It’s a long and tedious day, and I’m glad I don’t have to go running around the shops after work today.

The banter I share with my colleagues lifts my spirits as we commiserate together. Some clients are being difficult…again. But we quickly find a solution…or part of one. Hehe, when we tell the president of the company about all this, he’s going to have a field day with jokes about what we discovered today.

When I get home, my wife runs to me and wraps her arms around me. ‘My love!’ we both express and we kiss, sharing lovey-doveys. She smiles giddily and her eyes twinkle with the joy I know I bring her. I hope she can see in my eyes that she too makes me feel that same joy.

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(Enjoy this part of the story accompanied by this song that begins at 1:02.)

I sit at the table, finishing my breakfast, looking out at the rain coming down, a soft pitter-patter on the balcony. My mind drifts to the time Hubby and I made love in the rain in the backyard at the old house. The hedges all around the yard, taller than six feet, allowed for much privacy in the evenings and at night.

It had been a warm day, that time. Not a cold March like today.

I sigh, having only been awake a couple of hours and already missing Hubby like mad. I always miss him. I can get lost in my work, but I pine over him all the time. Sometimes I worry that I have too many needs…or unreasonable needs.

No, these are just my needs. A lot of intense emotions. And he’s always been more than happy to do his best to fulfil them whenever he can. Else he would have said something sooner. It’s been almost twelve years.

I much prefer it when he’s working from home, though, which he does a couple of days per week. I can see his face, hear his meetings (haha), and get a kiss and hug whenever I want. He beckons me with our sweet talk and we can exchange silly banter on the fly.

I sigh again. Well, these dishes aren’t going to do themselves.

(Enjoy the next part of the story accompanied by this song.)

I trudge away at the day, getting a few things done around the house and getting some writing done. I love that I get so inspired and lose myself in my characters. But I feel what they feel so intensely, and since there is romance in everything I write, whether for teens or my more mature stories, it makes me miss Hubby even more.

I feel a pang in my heart, in my stomach. Ugh. This is the fate that has befallen me, of being such a highly sensitive emotional writer. This pang is my character’s, but I feel it as though it were mine. And now I need Hubby to wrap his arms around me even more.

Finally, the day is through, a half-day for me (thank goodness), and Hubby has come home. He’s set his things down and washed up to prepare the meal, and I offer to assist him with some of the supper preparations. As we do this, Hubby shares his day with me.

It’s a lot of fun to hear the latest stories from work. I used to work there too before we met. I started there before he did. He’s been at that company for over ten years now. I know the president and vice-pres of the company. I know all of Hubby’s colleagues, or most of them, I know the clients, and the systems and software used by the company. I can follow along about the latest gossip or anecdotes as though I were there living it with him. It’s a lot of fun to hear about his days. I can imagine the people, their faces, their voices, their reactions. I know them, so it’s easy to picture it all.

We exchange more silly banter as we prepare supper and set the food to cook.

Hubby wraps his arms around me and kisses my forehead.

(Enjoy the next part of the story accompanied by this song.)

‘It’s Mando tonight,’ I say.

‘I know,’ he replies.

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