Camilla says she’s getting depressed, and she seems different lately. But I’m not able to be there for her at all. We barely get a chance to talk every day. It was hard enough before, with time zones, and being stuck on opposite sides of an ocean. But now that I’m basically married again? Living this double life is starting to become too difficult, and I’m failing at everything.
I’m failing at my work, because I can’t seem to focus. Writing a book requires a huge amount of time and dedication, and everything I try to write, when I can even try to write, is utter shit. All my time is spent nursing Yvette, or being there for her emotionally, and after hours of doing that and feeling completely exhausted, spending more hours texting Camilla to reassure her that I’m not letting go of her.
But sometimes, I think I should.
On some days, it does feel so comfortable and good to be close to Yvette again. She feels like family, like an old friend. Someone who knows me inside and out. The truth is that I have missed her a great deal while she’s been gone, and maybe she deserves a chance to try and reconcile. Some days, I really want to give our relationship another try. I hate seeing her so sick.
But even so unwell, she is still the woman I fell in love with. She is sharp and witty and funny, and has an incredible positive attitude even in the worst of times. I often wonder if I could be with her completely again, if I could somehow love her back into perfect health.
It just hasn’t been possible, as much as I try. I’m not really capable of being here completely with Evie. There is some kind of boundary, a barrier. I feel like I’m torn in half, with my mind and heart playing a game of tug of war. It’s driving me a bit insane.
I don’t even know if we’re in a relationship anymore, Camilla is texting me. If I can’t even call you on a bad day… how am I supposed to ever trust you or rely on you for anything?
“Fuck,” I whisper out loud into the cold night air, my breath creating a fog. I’m so upset at everything. Lately, I’ve been sneaking a few more drinks here and there. Just as a way of escaping both of these women who are always disappointed in me.
I’m sorry, Camilla. I just can’t always pick up the phone! You know that Evie is right beside me. What am I supposed to do? I text her.
Then why don’t we just stop this? she writes. If you choose her and want her, just be with her. Get rid of me!
I can’t do that! I don’t want to do that. I love you. My fingers are frozen to the bone as I text her, and I feel desperate to make her understand.
Then why don’t you act like it anymore? I feel like you don’t care at all.
“Fuck!” I curse again. I have to go inside. I can’t stand here and text anymore. I’m sorry, I type to her. It’s all I can think of saying. I am tired of making excuses for myself… it’s a messed up situation and I’m starting to realize that I can’t do better. What if I keep telling Milla to wait for me, and I never feel brave enough to actually break things off with Yvette? How healthy does she need to be before I finally tell her?
“Yvette, I want a divorce,” I say to myself out loud, before going back inside. The words are so difficult to say, it’s physically painful. How could I hurt her like that? “Yvette, I’m sorry… this isn’t working. We’ve already been separated for so long. I can’t do this anymore—we’re just pretending. I think we should get a divorce. Fuck!”
I can’t say that to her. Not now. Not anytime soon. I can’t even bear to imagine the look on her face. I feel like a monster. And what if I can never say it? What if I just string Milla along for years, while actually getting back together with my wife, and I can never be with her after all? Never start that family we planned?
I feel sick.
Did I propose to her for nothing? Did I get into a relationship with her and form this connection for no reason? Is there no chance for us? Are we never going to meet up? Did I just use her during a difficult time… and am I just going to break her heart and get rid of her now? Leave her alone and depressed while I give all my energy to my wife, and return to my backup plan?
“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” I whisper to myself. I actually bought a pack the other day. It’s sitting on my desk. I have just been staring it for days, whenever things get difficult. I’m trying to be strong, but some days…
As I enter the house, I see another text from Camilla appear: It’s like you don’t even want to make this work anymore.
I can’t find the words to text back, and I just feel anger rising in my chest. What am I supposed to do? What the hell am I supposed to do? I smash my fist into the wall.
“Gabe?” a voice cries out from deeper in the house. She sounds hysterical. “Gabe!”
Forgetting my anger, I walk into the room where I’ve set up Yvette’s bed and wheelchair. I am startled to find my wife lying on the floor beside the bed. Crying. Her white nightgown is stained with urine.
“You’re such a huge fucking asshole,” she whispers. “You’ve always let me down. Since the day I
