Calling From A Locked Bathroom

Saying Goodbye to an Affair Partner

“Can you call me?” my lover asked.

What? Call? He knows I can’t call. This is an affair. I’m home.

“I need you.”

I rolled my eyes. Please. Spare me. Remind me why am I fucking this man again?

I locked myself in the bathroom on the other side of the house to make a quick call.

“What happened? Are you ok?” I whispered. “I’m ok.” “That’s good,” except him calling wasn’t good. He was far too needy. I didn’t want needy.

“You know I can’t talk long, I’m at home.” “That’s the problem. You aren’t free.”

This again. I’m so tired of the same refrain. I’m going to dump you and find someone else, I swear.

“I just can’t do this anymore. You don’t care about me,” he said.

Don’t let me audibly sigh into the phone. When did I turn into the man in this affair?

“I do care. What is this about?”

The truth was that I didn’t care, not enough. My single lover was wearing me down with his endless drama. I kicked myself mentally. Why did I start with him?

“I’m really sad. You will never be with me.”

You just figured that out? We’ve been fucking for almost three years. I said right from the beginning, it was “just sex.” I wasn’t going to leave my husband.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” I said.

I won’t leave to be with you or anyone else. IF I did have the courage to get out of my unhappy marriage, it would be for me and me alone. I have no desire to tie myself to an outdated version of monogamy.

“You are not. You just want what you want, that’s all.”

True.

“I know you very well,” he added.

He does know me inside and out. More than any other man in my life. Certainly more than my husband. I’ve opened up to him both emotionally and sexually. We’ve known each other for more than 20 years. The first time I felt free. I could tell him anything, and he wouldn’t judge me.

Yet he did. He would be appalled at my behavior if he knew all of it. My many men. My unruly desires. He would condemn every single licentious action.

He wanted me on his terms.

“You can’t just be happy with me?” he’d ask.

NO. I can’t. And, I won’t.

“Please just live your life and forget about me,” he said.

How can I forget about you? You were my first lover.

Those moments cradled in your arms, held and stroked by your calloused fingers. Holding hands crossing the street. Listening to music in my car. The joy of discovering my desire after it being dormant for so long.

The sex gravy train wasn’t worth this agita, though.

“I’m sorry, I’m not going to text you anymore. I did trust you, but I made a mistake,” my lover said, in his broken English.

We’ve both made mistakes — plenty of them.

I shouldn’t have started an affair. I shouldn’t have chosen a single guy. Or been needy and sexual. All of it was a mistake. Why am I trying to save this doomed affair? For what? The inevitable heartbreak.

Prolonging the pain?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

It wasn’t enough. I knew it. He deserved more.

“You know what hurt me? I believed you,” he almost whispered.

Mistake #1.

I stupidly put myself in this situation. I regretted everything. Yet even as I said it, he didn’t believe me.

Our affair ended with recriminations and harsh words, while I hid in the bathroom.

“You aren’t sorry,” he said.

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