I Love You

“I love you.”

That was the last thing she ever said to me. It was also the last time I ever saw her again. The last time I was able to gaze into her eyes; even though they were filled with tears from the pain of what had been done to her. A pain that I still cannot bring myself to come to terms with.

It was the summer of ’09, the hottest summer of recent memory or of recent memory that the old fogies could remember; which ironically enough only goes back to maybe five or ten years ago with their failing memories. The summer where things would not be the same ever again in my life, at least for some time.

We were young and carefree. Living our lives however we wanted, without worrying about any of the consequences of our actions. If we wanted to stay up late and party till daybreak, we would. If we wanted to experiment with new things, no matter how dangerous it sounded at the time, we did. There was no stopping us at the time and no end in sight with the pace we were setting for ourselves. We were invincible. Most of all, we were happy.

That was all about to change.

I remember it like yesterday, the day it all began. It was after a night of late night partying; which had become the norm for our lives, when she said she wanted to slow down and start taking it easy. At first I thought she was talking about our sex life, but she meant the constant partying that was our life.

Why would we want to change that, was the prevailing thought that went through my head at that particular moment. After all, we had everything when we needed it, as we needed it. Neither of us wanted children since we had discussed it in the past, nor did we have any plans of marriage; since both of us considered it an abomination forced upon us by religion and government as a form of control.

We were free in almost the very essence of the word. So what could be the reason for this rebellion of change that she was seeking?

Seems she wasn’t nearly as happy on the inside as she seemed on the outside. Through a rather lengthy and somewhat dubious discussion with our inebriated and drug enhanced brains, she went on to elaborate as to why she wasn’t happy anymore. She had told me she wanted more but could not form that thought into a more cohesive bit of substance beyond that. Was it more money? More things, drugs, alcohol or what? She did not know, but the answer was just ‘more’. I just considered all of this as exhaustion from the night and dismissed most of what was talked about; chalking it up to some sort of fairytale that she had formed as a child of how she thought her life would be but it had failed to materialize into such.

The next few weeks carried on much the same as the weeks before, as well as the months they formed. Until she came home one day with that same look in her eyes that I saw that same night when she expressed her unhappiness and desire for ‘more’. I knew then that this was not going to be a good night. She slumped into her chair with a sigh that signaled that she wanted to talk, but it would take much coercion to get it out of her and in the process wearing my patience thin to the breaking point. After letting her sit for a little bit, it gave me time to have a couple of drinks; so I could muster up my resolve. When I was able to ask her what was the problem.

Her reply was she wanted ‘more’.

Being as nice as I could be, I tried to have her solidify what this all important ‘more’ was and no matter how hard I tried, there was no way that this thought was going to become anything else but ‘more’. Whatever it was, she wanted it but had no clue as to how to get it, where to get it or for the most important factor, what in the world this ‘more’ was exactly. This was unacceptable, how could anyone know they needed more, but could not know what this ‘more’ was? She said it was just a feeling she had in her gut. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but knew that it was a hunger she had, a wanting, and a needing. A need for just ‘more’.

This had brought my patience to the breaking point. I had to leave the house, had to get out for a bit; go for a walk, a ride, a drink, just anything to get away from her and this silliness of ‘more’. I grabbed my wallet and keys and left without saying bye. I figured that perhaps some time to herself and her gut, the two of them could come to an understanding to figure out what this ‘more’ was, once and for all. Hopefully before I returned back from wherever I ended going.

After returning after several hours, I came home to her, still sitting in the same place, in the same position, with the same look of ‘more’ on her face. I asked her if she had managed to place a finger on what the ‘more’ was. Her reply came back as a smooth and cool, no.

I almost lost it. To not to be able to still tell me was infuriating to say the least. I wasn’t about to go into another talk trying to figure this out, as I was done with this game of “Guess What I Want, But I’m Not Telling You”, so I went to bed for the night. I didn’t get anywhere earlier and it seems that is going to remain the case several hours later. She could sleep in that fucking chair, in the fucking living room, for the fucking night, for all I fucking cared.

The next morning I awoke to find her not in the house. Seems she had left at some point in the middle of the night without waking me, leaving a note or taking anything that could leave me a clue that I could use to locate her. She had left her phone as well, leaving me with no way for me to be able contact her either. This worried me a little, but more importantly made me even more happy that I wouldn’t have to deal with this business of ‘more’ this morning. I was going to enjoy however much time I had left by myself and hope that she was finding ‘more’ so when she returned, this need would be satiated as to never needing to be brought up again.

The passage of time is an odd thing, especially when you keep your mind occupied on other things; rather than the things that you would rather not think about at the moment, before you know it, time has slipped by. Once I realized it, the day had started to melt away and I needed to get ready for work. Which is when it came springing on me that she had not been home yet from leaving the night before. Was I worried? Not so much. After all, the neighborhood was nice and quiet, the town had a very low crime rate, so wherever she went, I was confident in her safety, as she could take care of herself if need be.

Headed off to work, I started to try to piece together all of this, to try to make sense of it all, to maybe figure out what ‘more’ was, even if by myself. This kept my mind occupied throughout the evening while at work, which was a good thing since I don’t care too much for what I do, but it pays well so I put up with the crap. Even the ride home I was still thinking about ‘more’ and hoping that she was home when I got there, with an answer to what ‘more’ was.

When I got home, she was there.

With bags packed.

She was leaving.

For good.

“I love you”, was the only thing she spoke to me before she picked up her bags and walked out of my life. No explanation, nothing to tell me why, just three words that would echo through my head and leave me wanting ‘more’.