I never thought the day would come when I couldn't recognize myself in my own reflection.
Not that a part of me - that part I always wanted to ignore - was going to take control so quickly, so quietly.
It all started with a silence.
A thick, annoying silence.
I was in the bathroom; she was in the dining room.
But what fucked me the most was not his presence.
It was the idea that he knew something.
That he was looking at me differently.
That I suspected.
When I left and barely looked at her, I felt her energy like a blow. And before I could say anything, I already had that phrase stuck in my throat:
"Why did you do it?" Why are you looking to fuck my life?
I don't know if I expected him to shut up.
Capable, he hoped it would get smort as always.
But this time he didn't shrink.
"Me?" Do I shit your life? -he exploded, as if he had been saving that fire for months-. Do you want to know why I did it? Because I'm sick of being taken for an idiot. Because you knew everything and yet you kept playing with me.
I felt like something pricked me inside.
Annoyance.
Wounded pride.
Rage disguised as defense.
"Stop talking like that," I told him, irritated.
"Like this, how?" Telling the truth? -he spat on me-. Did you know you were going to live with her and you didn't say anything? Did you leave me here, sharing a bed, sharing days, knowing that you were already leaving with someone else? A few days ago you told me that it was going to be just us and no one else, and I believed you.
I clenched my jaw.
Because yes, he was somewhat right.
But if I gave it to him, he lost control.
And I couldn't lose control.
"Don't say stupid things," I replied.
But then he said what he didn't expect.
What pricked me in the only place I didn't want me to touch.
"They're not stupid." And do you know what's the worst? That it wasn't just you.
He looked down.
And there he said it:
"He knew it too... and he lied to me."
Something in me lit up.
Something ugly.
Irrational.
As if he were exposed, naked, cornered.
She murmured, as if talking to a ghost:
"You knew... and you lied to me...
I saw her break down.
And instead of taking care of her, the most rotten part of me wanted to shut her up.
"Enough," I told him abruptly. Stop crying. Stop playing the victim. You know very well that everything was a lie and that I NEVER loved you. I used you.
I didn't recognize myself when I said it.
But I said it anyway.
As if I wanted to nail something so as not to feel guilty.
She replied:
"I'm not crying for you." I'm crying for EVERYTHING I kept quiet.
That was worse than a blow.
And he pushed me to an edge that I didn't even know I had.
I raised my voice.
She too.
We both shouted things that no longer made sense.
"Always the same with you," I told him.
"Always the same with YOU," he replied.
And there I exploded.
I pushed her.
Not strong, but enough for him to fall on the armchair.
When I got closer, she lifted her legs and kicked me.
I saw her tremble.
I saw her scared.
And even so I continued.
"Stop!" he shouted.
And there...
There I did what I never thought I would be able to do.
I grabbed his neck.
Not strong.
Not at first.
But enough to shut her up.
To stop it.
To feel that he regained control.
"Shut up." I don't want to listen to you anymore," I told him.
I turned it over.
I put it upside down.
I don't know what I was doing.
I don't know what I was thinking.
I only remember a hot current going up my back, mixed with scolding, guilt and a fear that I didn't want to admit.
Until I heard her say:
"Not in the head... please... not in the head...
And even so, my hands didn't stop.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Dry blows, fast, loaded with something that today I am ashamed to admit:
That horrible mixture of frustration and loss of control.
Then I heard his broken voice:
"I didn't want this...
"I was happy...
"I don't want to live like this...
And there I was the one who broke.
I stood still, with my hands burning.
I saw how he snuggled up.
How he protected his head.
How he looked at me without looking at me, with that fear that pierces.
I felt something sink into my chest.
No pain.
Shame.
Something I didn't know how to hold.
I went to my room almost out of breath.
I closed the door and sat on the bed.
My hands were shaking.
I looked at them and they didn't seem to be mine.
I didn't understand when I had crossed that line.
I didn't understand when I had become that.
And there I did cry.
Not for her.
Not because of what I did.
But from what I discovered about myself.
For that shadow that I could no longer deny.
Because for the first time I felt afraid.
Fear of myself.
And although I tried to breathe, although I covered my face so as not to hear anything, I still kept listening to it when I closed my eyes:
"Look what you did."