Being Carrie Mathison

I was moved to write about an unstable young woman going through the upheavals of depression after watching the movie “The Girl on the Train” staring Emily blunt ( pictured above) and Homeland staring Claire Danes (Carrie Mathison).

(30 minute read)

I watched the sun disappear from the square panes of my French windows and the occasional cars whizz by. It was two minutes to 5 and I felt the rise of nerves swarming my insides. I was dressed in a knee-length blue dress with cap sleeves and a button on the collarbone. It was a dress that said nothing yet everything, a dress that kept me ordinary and blended. Perhaps in a drab office somewhere, with the loud sounds of printer colliding with the Xerox machine, another woman wore my dress with pride. A dress she kept for meeting people and even for a photo she would send to a male suitor. Funny, how a dress could mean so differently to different women. A dress like this signified utter nothingness to me.

I got up from my wingchair, a purple felt seater that I had bought in happier times. I made my way to the fridge where I poured myself a glass of water. Iced cold water ran down my throat. Peculiar I thought, how I continued to feel physical relief even when the soul was bereft of life. I glanced round my townhouse and took in the cosy décor I had put together. A thick lilac sofa with two matching single chairs and a bevy of outspoken pillows on its lap. A short-hair carpet in the colour of sand invited visitors to sink down and made playing Uno so much more enjoyable. A handsome shelf of books containing books I was proud off. Rather, a snotty selection I had collected over 3 years. None of the mass titles or bestselling books you would find so often in another shelf. No. These were books I had chosen out of pure personal interest. Kyle Chandler’s biography, A Dog’s Life by Kim Bofrey. I never loaned anyone my books, not that any of my friends would appreciate them anyway.

A painting of Iceland and nature rearing its treacherous head. The picture gave me both hope and a sense of foreboding. Hope because so much was unknown of life. Fear because of the wrath of nature and the magnificence of it. The coffee table was never tidy. My laptop, phone, coffee mug and whatever book I was reading played as décor pieces next to the 2 porcelain cats reclining at the center.

I had decorated my home with joy and hope. I relished staying in over weekends, and made excuses to friends and events that found their way to my weekend. But today, my living room provided me with no such solace. I found myself staring at it and seeing with new eyes, a lonely sitting area, curdling in loneliness. How did I find joy cuddling on my sofa with my polka dot socks on and flicking channels? Last night, it felt as if the sofa would swallow my tiny body. I had stayed up till 4am watching “Stranger Things” feeling no intrigue nor pleasure. I had eaten chips and a Magnum ice cream, eating so slowly, I knew nothing would show up on my waist.

He would be arriving shortly. I heard the familiar sound of his engine, a masculine roar followed by the familiar click of his leather shoes. Hadn’t I called his leather shoes uncool? He never agreed except to swipe me with his feigned-slighted eyes and I never changed my point of view. My heart quickened as I heard his movements by the front door. He hovered and the bell remain silent. Probably checking his phone. Probably sending a reassuring text to Deidre. A sting of tears attacked and I quickly got up and examined my reflection in the doorway mirror. I ran a finger under my eyes, removing a scant trace of eyeliner that had derailed from the ominous tears. My hair was shoulder length and tied into a low ponytail. My makeup was the same everyday. I had good skin that required little to no foundation and long lashes that sprung with zest at a few strokes. I was the average Chinese girl which depending which set of eyes you were looking from, could be pretty or plain. I had always been happy with my looks and overrated them terribly.

The doorbell rung and I sucked in my breath. Dear God, please make it alright. Please make him gentle with me. I grasped the door handle and twisted it open, adrenaline threatening to explode. Ethan stood before me, tall, handsome and unsmiling. My heart dropped and desperation took over. He was wearing a suit today, the one with the lightest pinstripes, the one he saved for political fundraisers, where his picture would possibly appear in the socialite sections of the newspapers.

“Etsy,” he said formally. “Hey.”

I nodded wordlessly, because the lump in my throat was so tight. I wanted to cry. He came inside, avoiding any body contact with me and I felt a sharp stab of pain knife my heart. I closed the door and turned to face him.

“Etsy,…….”

He stopped because tears had fallen from my eyes. Tears that were followed by heaves that came out from the destructive rubble of a rejected lover. I could not hold it anymore. And then I cried like a baby, sobs wracking my skinny body, embarrassment engulfing my being. Ethan sighed and I trudged to the dining area where I kept a box of tissues by the rosewood chest of drawers. I pulled a handful of tissues and buried my eyes in them, realizing how swollen and ugly they already were. From the giant mirror by the dining area, I saw Ethan sit hopelessly on the wingchair, his posture exasperated. At that moment, I hated him. Hated him for what he was doing to us, to me.

I stood in my trembling tears for minutes with Ethan listening, doing nothing. What could he do anyway? Wrap his arms around me? Tell me I was going to be alright? I would find someone better? He didn’t want me anymore. He was removing his life from mine. Rejection was the Abu Ghraib of emotional torture.

I clutched at the dining chair in my agony and looked at Ethan poised on the chair. His slicked haircut and his broad shoulders. He had everything in the shallow millennial world to induce glances and I had been the girl by his side. Three and a half months ago, while I pecked furiously at my laptop, Ethan had sat rooted to his football game in the living room. In the midst of a scrimmage and a yellow card, Ethan had received a call and taken it outside. I wondered why but the urgency of a client query shook it off. He made conversation when he returned and I was taken by his good mood. Rarely did he chat during an EPL game. I told him about the new designer I had found and her portfolio that would enhance my interior design services greatly. I told him how the Chens from Bangsar had signed a project with me in the afternoon. I had been too excited to notice his lack of enthusiasm.

He had returned to his game and I to my work. My business was one-year- old and the wheels were beginning to roll. During halftime, I made coffee and joined him in the living area. He declined coffee, busy instead on his phone. I reclined and went on Facebook, scrolling through the boring trail of feed.

“OMG Judy got married!”  I exclaimed. He grunted without looking up. “Sad,” I said dismissively before scrolling next. Ethan was unusually irritated. “Do you have to make comments like that all the time?”

I looked at him puzzled. “What’s wrong babe?”

“Just why do you have to be so derisive all the time about our friends getting married?”

I frowned, still unaware of what was frothing beneath. “Yeah I do,” I said cheekily. He shook his head and turned back to his phone. “It’s not funny Etsy.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” I exclaimed.

“Not everyone suffers when they get married,” he continued, surprising me more.

I sat back and stared curiously at him. “Just most of them,” I said evenly. “What’s wrong with you? Are you having a premature mid-life crisis? Is it your mom?”

“Leave my mom outta it,” he said shortly. I would normally be annoyed but instead, I got up and ruffled his head. I was in too good a mood with my business achievement to let his brattiness disturb me. He flinched. “Sulk all you want, I’m going to make mushroom soup with croutons. Do you want some?”

He shook his head and I walked off. I would make him a bowl anyway.

The downside of being with a rich boy was often the mother who thought little of me. She, with her paid-by-her-husband’s-cash linen dresses and curled hair, thought I was not worthy of her son. I had made it worse by asserting my opinions about her lack of achievement outside her marriage and the animosity had been notably high in years past. Ethan who strived for the halcyon, pandered to the whims of the aged like most people did, giving them a pompous license to degenerate further.

“Why can’t you just come over and apologize and give her a box of herbs?” he had argued with me. “Because she insulted me first babe. Your mom gets an apology for being snobby?” Ethan shook his head in frustration. “Do you know how stressful this is for me?” I knew and that’s why I relented. I put on my boring blue dress and with Ethan by myside, apologized insincerely. She nodded imperiously. She didn’t like me much though. I knew, because Ethan always hedged when he had family dinners. I was never invited when all his brother’s girlfriends were. Couldn’t say I missed it.

He remained grumpy and stiff with me for the rest of the night. I attributed his behavior to work stress. Every now and then, he would have a flare-up with his father over his capability, and he would come home surly and quiet. He ate my croutons grudgingly and we slept on separate sides. I realized the next day when he came back from work why. He was leaving me for someone else. Someone who in his words “didn’t have an ego” and “didn’t have arrogant opinions about marriage.”

Since when did he mind? Since when was my behavior such a thorn in his side? Since “you think your opinions are the most valid!” He informed me forcefully. “Since when must a man hope for his woman to marry him and be embarrassed about it?” I shook my head frantically. “Those are my opinions, but it doesn’t mean I feel that way about us.” He would have none of it. He had broached this topic with me on several occasions and I had laughed it off each time. I was barely given a chance to defend myself. Ethan had a resolve that had been built on a mountain of frustration.  He was a marine on a mission. To leave.

I had read news and watched enough movies to know that prisoners of war were thrown into cells for long periods of isolation, beaten and mindfucked with. These prisoners lost their minds, lost their selves and were malleable to sick brainwashing. They came back depressed, unable to function and those that needed purpose blew up their fellow citizens. I had no destruction tendencies but in every other way, I was no longer myself. Ethan rejecting me vehemently and treating me with brutal indifference became my undoing. I had no idea I could be that pathetic, desperate and weak. I had no idea that pain was a ball that sat in your heart and didn’t go away for long periods of time.  And I had never before experienced the cruel pain of loving someone who didn’t want me. And Ethan wanted someone else who wanted him back. In the days that followed, I understood in the rawest way, every unliberating song about heartbreak.

I cried in a way I never cried before. I found myself submissive to Ethan, dragging his shirt, begging him to listen to me, offering change in my behavior. I went out with plenty of guys in the past but only Ethan became my boyfriends. Relationships were a big deal to me. Ethan was a big deal to me.  “I’m not sure I love you anymore Etsy,” he said tearfully. I collapsed on the floor and a million glass shards ravaged my heart. The world began to spin and I couldn’t breathe. “Why why? How did that happen?” I shouted. I clung to him while he sat breathing heavily. The immense pain that incarcerated my body left me an invalid. Ethan went out and didn’t come back that night. I sat on the edge of my bed crying for 8 hours. I don’t wish my pain to anyone.

How could the person you love inflict so much pain? Was love only exclusive to the time you were together? And once out, contempt took over? Wasn’t love, love? The anger he harboured toward me was quickly revealed when he drastically moved out a week later, leaving me wretched and wailing on the bathroom floor.

Pain has a process that one cannot hasten. And the roiling pain took its course in treacherous waves. I felt ugly, unattractive. I lost weight. I became desperate for Ethan. The years with Ethan suddenly seemed like the best days of my life and Ethan became the answer to everything. He was a religion that I began to worship and seek. I saw him in people in the park, in writings on postcards and in my dreams when I slept. He was the Messiah that would give me salvation.

Now, two and a half months later when Ethan had been cavorting and fornicating with someone else, I had not moved much beyond the bathroom door. I had moments of being okay but my days were a haze of depression and tortured conversations. I was unable to accept Ethan’s departure and the denial pinned me to the ground. I carried a boulder around me, my ears deaf to anything said otherwise. I jumped at every text chime, hoping against hope that it was Ethan. It was never him. So when he texted yesterday in curt syllables that he would be coming over, it had given me a burst of hope. I had dressed with the elegance of a lithium-addict, pawing through clothes and tearing them off me. My heart was a torrent of scared emotions as I imagined Ethan walking through the door. The blue dress with its nondescript shape and length called out to me and I slipped it on my shrinking frame.

Standing meters away from him now felt surreal. I composed myself and took deep breaths. I thought of the yoga class my sister had forced on me yesterday and the fleeting moment of peace I had found when I was stretched downward dog. In that space of light, I had been inundated with the Beyonce spirit of survival.  Women had had it worse than me.

“Your things are by the staircase. I’ve put it all there,” I said shakily, doing my best to contain the break in my voice. Ethan turned slightly and I saw a flicker of guilt cross his face. Hope sprung in my damaged heart. Did he still love me? He got up and went over to his things. I watched as he bent over, his pants stretched against his athletic built. He was always the better looking of us two. He rummaged through the neatly packed things in the big white plastic bag I had pathetically arranged for him.

“Etsy, where are my speakers?”

“Your speakers?”

“It’s not in here,” he stood up and looked at me tryingly.

The hackles on my back began to rise. “Since when does your speakers mean so much to you?”

“I’m just asking for what’s mine,” he said tightly, but not before I the minute of an awkward expression.

I was feeling dangerously unstable. “Why? Does your bitch Deidre like music?” I shot angrily.

“There you go again,” Ethan sighed. ”Leave her out of it.”

If the word “her” were a sponge, I would rip it and shred it apart and feed it to the dogs.  The pent-up rage exploded. “You never listened to anything beyond ABBA,” I yelled. “You can’t even tell from James Morrison to Ed Sheeran. You’re so fuckin uncool in your music.  Christ, I introduced you to those goddamned speakers. And now you’re asking for your speakers? Hypocrite!”

Ethan threw the plastic bag on the floor. “You’re always the best aren’t you? Is there ever a time in your arrogant life that you’re not judgemental?”

“Judgemental?” I leered. Ah I had hit a nerve. Ethan still had that ego which only I had the balls to provoke.

Ethan turned to face me. “You’re always so full of your views on what is and how the world should be. And everything has to adhere to your high and mighty ways! My mom was always right about you!”

Ah I was on comfortable ground. “Just because I say things which no one else says? Just because you need mediocrity to make you superior? At the end of the day, you’re just a highly ordinary man living off his daddy’s money! You and your mom! There’s nothing else particularly outstanding about the both of you peasants.”

Ethan caught my arm violently. I felt his wrists tightened painfully round my arm and I gritted my teeth against the pain. His grip loosened seconds later, but the vice-like grasp maintained and he continued to stare at me with abhorrence.

“Keep the speakers,” he hissed before letting me go and picking up the plastic bags to the door.

I ran to him and slapped him. I rained blows on his chest and he caught my hands. I heard nothing as I continued on pummeling him. I know I shouted a torrent of profanities. I called him a cheater. I asked him what I did wrong. I kept saying “How dare you?” over and over again. And then we both collapsed on the floor and he was hugging me. I was crying like a banshee with the hopelessness of a Guantanamo prisoner. Ethan had his hand on my back, holding me with a care that made me cry harder. The man I loved for the last 3 years was leaving me. For someone else. For a woman prettier than me and who had all the manners a lady should have.

“Don’t leave me,” I pleaded. “Please don’t. Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. I didn’t mean the things I said just now.”  Shame had no place when you were losing the man you loved. When you were stuck in that abyss of wanting him. When you were a prisoner in a deep hole you had no intention of leaving. I tried to kiss him but Ethan gently let me down. He continued to hold me while I begged him not to go. We clung together and I held with a desperation that I never knew I had.

Ten minutes later, I remained on the floor in the exact position listening to the sound of Ethan’s car driving out my driveway. Driving out of my life.

“Blue or pink?” I asked, holding up two very different dresses.

Ethan put his phone down and squinted. “Definitely pink babe.”

“Why?” I asked approaching him. “I kinda thought you’d say blue actually.”

“Cause I can’t keep my hands off you in that blue dress. Can’t handle the distraction during the potluck.”

I squeezed my eyes and pressed my face. The memory disappeared into the darkness of my room and I was back with myself. In my nightgown. With the whirring fan above me. And the flutter of wrappers at the bottom of my bed. I heard the sound of kitchen cabinets open and footsteps coming upstairs. The door opened and harsh light hit me. “Shut it off,” I yelled angrily. The lights went off immediately.

“Settle down Ets,” I heard my sister say, her silhouette by the doorway. “God. Have you been in the room all day?” I flung the blanket up my eyes and grumbled for her to go away.  She sat by my bedside chair and took a swig from her can drink. Probably Carlsberg. I could smell Christian Dior and pastry on her. “Hey I brought you something to eat,” she said. I heard the thump of aluminium and the rustle of a paperbag on my table. Cinnamon wafted. I hadn’t drunk or eaten anything since morning but the lead in my heart kept me immobilised. I halfheartedly nodded.

“So how long do you wanna be like that?” she asked exasperated “It’s not normal you know? Mom’s worried. Really worried.” Jeanne looked at me pointedly, hands folded. In her white sweater, skinny jeans and short ponytail, she was the poised a version of me. We were two years apart and she was the natural big sister who organized family gatherings and gifts. Tiny kids and motherly women reverberated to her. She attracted dull, financially stable and practical men while I attracted the likes of Ethan. Her fiance Lee was a snooze-fest in my opinion. Ethan had laughed when I told him that. Funny how I wasn’t judgemental then.

“Etsy?” Jeanne nudged. “Aren’t you concerned about your business?” I said nothing except to raise my eyes slightly. There on my wall was a photo of me and Ethan and I found my attention moving there. Jeanne’s rambles became distant sounds as my snowy days with Ethan took over. We had been in Iceland last year after I developed a fascination for the language from watching the series “Trapped.” I fascinated at how the Icelandic people spoke English well and how intelligent I thought they were. Ethan and I had a great time trudging through ice, watching ships sail on icy waters and drinking cappuccino in cosy cafes. He had told me he loved my sense of adventure and ideas. Tears burned my eyes.

Jeanne automatically handed me a tissue and my face crumpled. I began yet another round of tears that she had become used too. Jeanne came by on alternate days with food and sometimes beer. She didn’t encourage alcohol but I was a wreck. Each time she showed up, I would be in bed, unmoving and depressed. There would be empty cans and balled up tissue on my bed. She would clear them not before urging me to go downstairs. For what? There was no Ethan coming through the door. I hardly washed my hair and had abandoned all skincare routines. Each time I saw my reflection, I saw the living dead. I did nothing throughout the day except to fantasize about Ethan telling me he made a big mistake. I willed for my phone to deliver his texts but they never came. Only slimming discount vouchers for a limited period of time.

We had gone through the whole spiel of Ethan being a bastard and unworthy of me. We had said awful things of Deidre and how she was a parasite who only had sex as a weapon. I convinced myself that it would wear out eventually. But after Jeanne left, I wound back miserable in bed, wanting Ethan despite his Deidre transgressions. I hadn’t told Jeanne that I texted him a few nights ago. The sonafabitch had asked me to move on. Find someone else. I told him how mediocre his salary was and how poser his friends were. I had relished the draw of breath he made when his next text came, a sign I had made him angry. Then I wished him a decade of syphilis with Deidre and the phone went crashing against the wall.

“What are you watching now?” Jeanne asked in an attempt to distract me. She took my iPad from my bed. “Ah. Season 1 of Homeland. It’s a really good watch Ets. I’m in Season 5.”

“Did you see his fucking Facebook?” I started angrily, sitting up.

Jeanne sighed.

“He really doesn’t care of me,” I said my voice breaking. “Not one bit. How could he post something like that?”

Jeanne ran her hand through her hair and looked thoughtful. “I think you shouldn’t look at Facebook and Instagram for awhile. You’ve been going mental for weeks Ets. You’ve been taking so long.”

“How could he?” I wailed sinking back to my lying position. “How could he just post those disgusting pictures barely months of us being apart? And Jeanne, Is that all you can say to me? Tell me something else for God’s sake!” I began bawling like a baby. My shoulders heaved so violently that I covered myself under my sheets.

Jeanne came over to the bed and cracked open the beer can for me. Truly had I become dysfunctional. She took my hand and covered it around the beer. “If it makes you feel better, I think Deidre made him do it. Put up all the photos.”

I released the beer can but Jeanne pushed it back to me. “It’s like I don’t know him. Like I mean nothing to him,” I blathered.

Jeanne made me hold the beer can. “You’ve got to put yourself in his shoes too Ets. Not that you’re capable of something like that, but has it occurred to you that Deidre’s also checking you out on Facebook?”

“Me?” I asked shocked. I got up from my covers and looked searchingly at Jeanne. Anything. I needed something to unclench this terrible pain in my heart. “Is that why you shared the Facebook memory of me in the sequined dress yesterday?”

Jeanne nodded uncommitted. That was her, always middle-ground and peace-loving and occasionally effective. Unlike me. But what a big sister move it was. “You and Ethan were so good together. Ethan was nuts about you.” Then seeing my trembling lip, Jeanne stopped. “Listen Ets. Ethan’s worried about you. He calls me to ask okay.”

My face must have brightened like a blinding sun because Jeanne held her hands up to restore order. “He’s not such a jerk Ets. He does care. But you have to accept that both of you are different people.”

It felt strangely more comforting when Jeanne said it. It made me feel less rejected.

“He is a jerk Jeanne. He left me and immediately started fucking Deidre. Asking how I am is nothing. Why are people so naïve to think that it’s a gesture? It just makes me him feel better to be seen better!”

“Okay, okay!” said Jeanne wringing her arms. “He is a jerk. I don’t like the way he’s handling the breakup too. But Deidre’s jealouse. It’s obvious she made him post those holiday pictures. Hell, I did that once too to get back at a boyfriend.”

I kept quiet, placing myself in the disgusting position of that nasty trollop.

“Ethan never posts pictures and now he does it. 15 pictures?  I’m telling you Ets. Deidre’s feeling insecure. Minus one for her. She’s starting to be the jealouse girlfriend at the start of the relationship.”

I took a sip of the iced cold beer. For the first time in the months since Ethan left, I tasted the bitterness of the malt and savoured it.

That night, I didn’t curl up and cry immediately. Instead, I watched 5 episodes of Homeland. I fell asleep, dreaming of a spy strapping on a suicide bomb and blowing up a terrorist. The terrorist was Ethan.

I had grudgingly gone to a dinner party at the behest of Jeanne. I put on my most unforgiving dress because I had lost so much weight from breakup pain. Unsurprisingly I slid into it. I stared with indifference at my reflection when I arrived at the foyer of the pub. It was a high-end pub frequented by the corporate crowd who had no creativity in after office activities. PANACEA it was called. I walked inside wondering if a panacea would present itself to me and remove the leftovers of depression around my shoulders.

The dress was the best part of my appearance. I hadn’t done much to my hair and face, except for lipstick and the smallest flick of eyeliner. Still it was an improvement. I was in Phase 2 of depression. I had stopped checking on Ethan’s Facebook every other day. I had held back for three days before feverishly going through his feed. He had shared two silly videos on Americans attempting crazy stunts.  Ethan was boring that way. Deidre had commented on his post “Babe we have to go next year.” I had breathed deeply as the usual bolt of jealousy ran its course.

It still pained me that Ethan couldn’t afford me that sensitivity. We were together for three and a half years. Shouldn’t there be some love and respect? In the past month, I had seen pictures of them canoodling, holding hands and Deidre’s proclamations of love for him. She tagged him in everything. Her friends and colleagues (comments I trawled like a psycho) supported her campaign by replying with loved up emojis.

I was replaced by a plastic doll and no compassion was given to my hurt feelings. Perhaps above all, that hurt the most. Ethan’s callousness to my pain bastardized everything beautiful about our relationship. I knew I should eventually remove him from my friends list but I had no mental fortitude yet. It was sell-flagellating. Nothing good could come from seeing him prance with Deidre. Yet I wasn’t ready to let him go completely. He had groomed himself to let me go while I had been caught by surprise. My “healing” was taking place alongside his newfound romance.

My days were an assortment of good and bad. Yesterday was bad. I’d bump into Jack, a mutual friend of Ethan and I and he had thoughtlessly remarked how hot Ethan’s new fiance was. My expression had fallen so badly and Jack had panicked. “Oh my God, I shouldn’t have said that,” he stuttered, looking at me as if I were an explosive about to detonate. “Etsy, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean anything…….” But I was walking away from him. Walking with angry tears in my eyes again, feeling unbelievably small and unworthy all over again.

With shaking hands, I went on Facebook and typed his name. There it was. A photo of them. A photo of her disgusting cleavage and her arms round Ethan. Her hand showing off a giant ring. “The happiest day of my life,” she had written

I must have sat in McDonald’s for an hour just looking at the road. I let my phone ring without picking up. Jeanne rang 5 times and left messages I left unread. The waiters probably thought me mad, yet were charitable enough to let me sit with my untouched Pepsi. When I went home, I wrote Ethan a long mail pouring out my feelings and calling him cruel for leaving without giving me a chance. I had my finger on the “enter’ button for 20 minutes before I trashed it. I looked at Deidre’s Instagram pictures until I became sick. In the evening, I took a long walk in the park and stayed on the bench till nightfall. I was quiet when Jeanne and my mom came over with pizza and ice cream. I looked at the mushrooms and onions and felt nauseous. The looked at me, clearly at their wits end.

“Is Deidre a lot prettier than me?” I asked Jeanne.

She looked at me stunned. “Come on Ets.”

“Answer me. If you were a guy, you would go for her right?”

Mom turned to Jeanne. Dear mom who made a living looking concerned.

“Just tell me,” I said falling back to my chair. “She’s like a 10 and I’m a 5.”

“If I were a guy, I would go for you Etsy,” said Jeanne firmly.

“Liar.”

“No really Etsy. Shut up Etsy!” she said angrily.

I was shocked. The conviction in her voice made me sit up.

I don’t think you realise how awesome you are Etsy……….. when you’re not cranky and crazy.”

Mom smiled.

“Ethan stayed with you for 3 years despite his…….. dissatisfaction. That should tell you something about you,” Jeanne continued. Mom nodded self-satisfied.

“His dissatisfaction?” I asked.

“Ets, it was so obvious. Deidre? She’s packaging and nothing else,” said Jeanne.

“She’s not pretty at all Etsy,” said mom. “She’s got a tart look.”

Then we were all laughing. I ate many slices of pizza after that. We chatted and played a few rounds of cards.

“Delete him off soon Ets,” Jeanne reminded me before she went. She hugged me and I nodded.

Later, I took a shower, laid in bed in my silky nightgown and finished Season 2 of Homeland. Sergeant Nicholas Brody falling for the spy Carrie Mathison over his gorgeous wife comforted me somewhat. I would take whatever I could.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind to be attending the party. My plan was to hang around for an hour or so before disappearing back home. I took a seat by the bar and rested my doleful face on my hand. After ten minutes of looking doleful in the same position, I saw a boyish face opposite catch my eye. He looked at me quizzically. I laughed feeling embarassed.

“Hi, are you here alone?” someone asked sliding next to me. I came face to face with a Caucasian man. He had an over-confident swagger that suggested luck with Deidre-types and an unnerving desire for a Chinese fuck. “I’m here with someone,” I replied politely before looking away. Opposite me, my new friend looked concerned. Caucasian man sat next to me. “Boyfriend?” I shook my head. Was this prick going to go? I was not in the mood for chit chat. “I just love this pub,” he went on. “My favourite in KL. The last time I was here, man, me and my friends we got so wasted. It was a pretty wild night.”

I smiled just because I had to and began playing with my phone. “Well someone’s not talkative tonight eh. Can I buy you a drink? I’m Max.”

“I’m not in the mood,” I replied. “I’m having a bad day and just need to be alone.”

“Well let me make you feel better,” he said, coming closer. “I know many ways.”

He touched my arm and I jerked back violently before falling off the chair. Gasps were heard and heads turned. Max looked aghast.

Jeanne came running from the entrance. “Etsy, are you okay?” Her fiancé Lee appeared and both helped me to my feet. I stumbled slightly on my heels and saw Lee glare at Max. “Hey man, I didn’t do anything,” he said, arms up.

“Yeah he was just going,” I said. “It’s okay.” I patted Lee’s arm who looked ready to launch into something. Max backed off in that casual American demeanour like everything was sunshine and pink ponies. If I had time later tonight, I would give him the finger.

I assured Jeanne I was alright and pushed her off to say hi to the party hosts. She looked at me concerned but Lee pulled up a chair next to me and motioned for her to go. My new friend opposite looked like he wanted to come over.

“Etsy, I know you’re going through a hard time,” Lee said surprising me. I turned curiously. In the past, we never talked much beyond “Where’s your sister?”

“Jeanne told me all that you’re going through,” he said. I said nothing because crying was easy for me these days. “Deidre’s safe,” he announced firmly. I looked up puzzled. “Safe?” I asked in a small voice. Lee nodded. “Deidre’s someone who wants Ethan without him upping his game. You can’t tell from her dripping-with-sex photos, at least with most girls. That’s what she does for self-esteem.”  

My eyes widened.

“Trust me Etsy when I say this. She’s nowhere near you.”

I was stoned for ten seconds before Lee turned to the bartender and ordered us both a martini. Jeanne appeared shortly with salty nuts and greasy fries. Even my new friend opposite seemed friendlier.

I suppose that night, I didn’t think Lee was such a snooze-fest.

*****************

I was in Starbucks hunched over my laptop when they walked in. Ethan and the slimy Deidre. I knew Deidre with her hussy gait, striding next to Ethan in her manufactured cleavage and tight jeans. Her makeup and hair were impeccable and she swayed in the clear knowledge that she sat on the higher echelons of the physical totem pole. I was plain and unpolished in my football singlet and black shorts. My months in the depression hole had immunized me against feeling ugly without makeup.  It was pathetic but I had been hoping to bump into Ethan. He came here often after work to unwind and in an irrational moment on the sofa, I had brazenly come. I had gathered my things into a bag, put on my grubby yellow shoes and walk the 10-minute walk under the sun to Starbucks. Why had I not considered the possibility of that bitch coming with him?

I had no choice but to pretend to look with intensity at my laptop and keep my face hidden. I heard the laughter and the banter about coffee and how the whipped cream induced rash. I heard Deidre the trollop coo at Ethan in her plastic English about wanting a new flask. My English was a thousand times better than that slum bitch. The impending moment of them seeing me happened and I heard urgent whispering. My face blushed despite my best efforts and I clumsily took a sip from my fruity drink. I looked at my chipped nails and unwaxed legs. Luckily I had a whole lot of good skin to compensate my vagrant appeal. Several seconds later, someone sat in front of me and I looked up.

Ethan eyes were upon me, his handsome face, krytoniting my charade. I felt a shiver caress my face as his eyes turned soft. The moment was pricked by Deidre marching over next to him. I was eye level with her stone washed jeans and even then, I despised her whore-like womanhood. Her posture was one that had been refined not to slouch but to arch and perk up. She was a sham.  I frowned, irritated at the curve of her waist and hips and the black buckled heels she wore over her red toenails. Everything about her screamed harlot and I wanted to throw my fruity drink at her.

Deidre stood like a plastic doll waiting to explode. Her smile was tight and she laid a possessive arm on Ethan’s shoulder. I gathered she must be scrutinizing my appearance and gloating in joy. Except, did I just see him move away from her manicured hand? Away from her and closer to me? In my homeless getup?  Deidre confirmed it by folding her arms and setting me with an icy gaze.

“Hi Ets, fancy seeing you here,” Ethan began.

“I was just about to leave,” I said, pretending to gather my things. Of course I wanted him to sit with me while the harlot disappeared to the bathroom to flush herself down the toilet bowl.

“No stay,” Ethan said, touching my hand instinctively. I shuddered and so did he. I smiled. Something in Ethan lighted up.  He missed me. I knew it. I could feel it. Above us, Deidre bristled, her dissatisfaction as obstructive as insecticide fumes.  

“We should get going babe,” said Deidre. “Your mom just called to remind me of the family dinner.”

I saw Ethan’s gaze stiffen. I felt sudden shards of glass pierce my heart. Deidre’s pleasure at the bomb she dropped reverberated lazily, cruelly teasing my wounded heart, rendering my attempts downright pitiful. I had been stupid enough to imagine hope in reuniting with Ethan. I had been foolish enough to continue stalking his life on social media and checking his last seen on whatsapp.

Ethan wanted to say something but the words stopped. I saw him search but give up. His handsome face lost the balm I experienced earlier. Instead he went for the politically boring. “It was good to see you Ets. But yeah, we really gotta get going.” He got up and I looked down. “See you Ets.” I couldn’t acknowledge his goodbye because tears were already pooling in my eyes. Tears I couldn’t believe were still there. The pain was humiliating and I bit my tongue to stop more tears from falling. I waited three seconds before grabbing a tissue and wiping my eyes. Ethan saw it. I saw him sigh broken hearted from my bleary peripheral vision.

“Why did you have to say that?” I heard him say. Deidre’s reply was inaudible and he cut her off with his hand.  “Let’s just go. I’m not thirsty anymore.”

They left while I took out my phone and attempted to delete Ethan from Facebook.

I still couldn’t.

Pain is a process. You cannot hasten it, you cannot skip it. The pain of a breakup tears a person apart, ripping away the soul and replacing it with a heaviness that paralyses the victim. But add a third person to the luscious flames. When you are left for someone else, and left to live your days knowing your former lover is in the arms of someone else, it changes your view tremendously. The burning anger, the absence of peace and the severe unhappiness annihilates you. Dignity abandons the broken hearted. Despite the humiliation, despite the replacement, you continue to yearn for the unfaithful lover. Some emerge from the ashes broken and jaded; distrustful and pessimistic. Others are reborned; claiming responsibility and seeing the wisdom after the pain.

The day I emerged from the gentry of victimhood was the fateful day at Starbucks. Perhaps pain had a part in this world. No other remedy awakens one so clearly from a stubborn stupor as pain does. Often times, because our patterns of thoughts are us, we fail to see where our fault lies. We may admit it superficially, but pain forces clarity.

Perhaps if I were really honest, I did think Ethan wasn’t good enough for me. Take away his rich family and sports car and above average looks, and he was ordinary in the scheme of human beings. I did make him feel inadequate with my judgements and theories and commentaries. My only defense being that it was never intentional, and I never knew how it made him feel. I was left now with irreparable damage. Ethan left me for Deidre. It hurt very much me that he did.  But unlike Ethan, I continued to care for him. And he deserved better than that trollop, even if it wasn’t me.

7 months later

He was sleeping, his mouth wide and beautiful, photogenic from a variety of angles. I put myself cheek-to-cheek with him and snapped a picture. The click of my phone caused him to stir.

“Babe,” he said softly reaching out to hold my arm. I patted him reassuringly. He pressed himself to me. “I’m thirsty. You want a drink?” asked Ethan, talking into my neck. I giggled “It’s ticklish.” Ethan held me tighter and kissed me. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.

“I’ll have the Snappel please,” I said gleefully. He jumped out of bed. “Coming right up,”

I reached out for my phone by my bedside table blindly and knocked over his portable speakers. There were three messages. One from Jeanne, one from a client and another that reminded me of the little act of defiance I’d just committed.

After months of silence and recuperating, I texted an invitation to Ethan on the opening of my new consultancy. It was a generic jpeg I sent to all clients and friends.  Ethan called me immediately, full of praise and friendliness in his voice. It was just like old times. That night, on my sofa, he whispered hoarsely that he missed me. And two days later when we argued over the phone like lovers did, when I took a swipe at Deidre, he told me that perfection in a partner was a myth. “You give and take, no one’s perfect,” he said matter-of-factly. “

 “I was a little more perfect for you than Deidre,” I said.

“Do we have to talk about this?” he asked. “Ets…….. I…… just don’t overthink what I said okay. Can I see you tonight?”

Ethan returned with the Snappel and we spent the next hour in bed, hands interlacing and chattering about our lives. He laughed genuinely at my jokes and I gave him my sweet side, the very thing he had fallen in love with. Then in the gentle of the night, he fell asleep. I crawled out from under his arm

I turned on my laptop and began drafting a email to the Chens. The project had been halted during my breakdown and I’d been working at a frenetic pace in the last three months. Christmas would see their house decked out in Grecian glamour. I’d just gotten a yes from a stone supplier who matched Mrs Chen’s wish for a beach white wall surface.

Emails done, I checked the Facebook page and replied the usual queries. Uploaded the latest work in the Chen’s garden. Should I boost this post? Ah maybe not, we’d wait for the Christmas unveil. After that, I looked at the photo of Ethan and I. We were like two precocious lovers. I brightened it, filtered it with a little noir.  He sure was handsome. I smiled at the photo, running my finger on his face. Then I turned to look at him sleeping, his naked back facing me. I sighed and finished sending the rest of my emails.

I glanced around his room. The big screen tv, the oak dresser and the sleek black study with his laptop.  There was a new painting and a white carpet. Deidre no doubt. Evidences of Deidre had been superficially removed, out of sensitivity for me. I guess sex makes you go out of the way. He’s forgotten the bathroom though. I had seen female toiletry from Body Shop.

I cleared my stuff and took a shower. 

“You’re leaving?” he asked when I emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed.

“Yeah babe, I got an early morning tomorrow,” I said, putting on my cardigan.

He made an unhappy face. “I wanted to spend all night with you. Deidre’s gone for two days.”

He didn’t notice the fleeting strain in my eyes because I averted it covert-style. “I’ll come by tomorrow after the meeting.”

“You know I love this red tank on you,” he said coming to me. “It’s so you.” He pulled me to him. “I had a great night tonight Ets. I missed you so much.”

Five minutes later, I was in my car. I stared at his house, into his bedroom and saw him by his study table.

“It was a great night,” I said to myself aloud.

I went on Facebook first. Then Instagram. Copied and pasted the caption I’d prepared in my Notes earlier. Then I blocked him on Messenger and Whatsapp. I’d wait for his frantic phone call before I blocked his number. I took out the paper I’d kept in my glove compartment, containing a couple of talking points.

Flushing out Ethan from the long quiet was easy. I knew enough of Ethan to know that my invitation would pique his interest. The catering for my party was a little expensive but it was the right position for my plan.

The call came and I picked it up on the third ring.

“What the hell Ets? What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

Why? I’m just sharing a happy moment in my life on Instagram like we all do,” I said innocently.

“Fuck Ets. Take our photo down now!”

“Why? Don’t you like my caption? Maybe I shouldn’t call us lover? Exes?”

He was frantic. “Are you trying to ruin my life?” he screamed.

“Ruin your life eh?” I said derisively. “Well actually Ethan, after tonight, I know that you’re with someone you don’t really want. And I just needed to know that for my perverse pleasure to move on. Cause guess what? I don’t really want you too. You broke up with me because I wasn’t the perfect partner. Well so were you. And rather than talk about it and be vulnerable, you got a replacement and broke my heart into a million pieces and flaunted it into my face. You thought of yourself and your healing and you left me in the hole knowing how much I loved you and how much I would detest someone like Deidre.

“Enough of your emotional shit okay Etsy!”

“And you’re actually arrogant enough to think that I’m willing to be with you when you’re with her. You really aren’t that smart Ethan.”

He stopped abruptly. He knew he was a jerk. And he knew what I was like.

“You know Ethan, I’ve been watching this series on Netflix. It’s called Homeland. It’s got this cuckoo character named Carrie Mathison. She’s a CIA intelligence officer.”

“Enough with your nonsense Etsy,” he said exasperated.

“Brilliant series. I can see why it won awards,”

“Where is this going?”

“Wanna know something funny? It gave me ideas.”

“Huh?’

“Deidre should be calling you by now. I took a rather compromising picture of us in bed earlier when you were sleeping and scheduled it to be emailed to her in about…………… actually now,”

“Motherfuck!”

I hacked her email too, don’t ask me how I did it. It’s the easiest thing in the world. I got other things of her as well. Man she gossips a lot in the office about her boss. But well, we’ll just keep that for when I’m feeling bored.”

“Godmanit Etsy! I’m gonna fuckin report you to the cops”

“Awwwwww,” I cooed channeling my Carrie Mathison. “Worst case scenario, she posts our picture on Facebook. I’m cool with it. My ass looks pretty damn awesome.  Who’s gonna say shit about me anyway? Girls know she took my man. They will never take the side of a fucking broad like her. And men? They’ll just say I look hot and move on. But if you don’t want her posting it and humiliating your family, better call her now! Better think up your excuse Ethan,”

Ethan drew his breath in anger and I went for a missile.

“I sent the photo to your mom too just for the heck of it. For some entertainment.”

Silence. Somewhere in the deep recesses of Ethan, I was sure a loud explosion was taking place.

“I don’t think the both of you will be so celebrated after this,” I said cheerfully.

“Oh Jesus motherfuck!”

“Hey Ethan, an eye for an eye right?”

“What?”

I paused, hesitated. The last talking point I had prepared. The third text I had received. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Couldn’t bring myself to do it to Ethan.  Ethan wasn’t me. He wouldn’t be able to crawl out of his hole unscathed.

“Goodbye Ethan.”

I removed my cardigan and took a deep breath. Emblazoned across my chest were the words AMAZING on my red tank. I drove out of Ethan’s compound and out of his life for good. Forgiveness was not something everyone deserved. Not to me anyway. Forgiveness was often an easy way out for many. They called it “being the bigger person.” I called it cowardice. All these cowards were just waiting for someone else to do it.

I stepped on the accelerator and my car flew at high speed. I winded down the window and let the wind blow away my angers and resentments. They were all gone. I deleted Ethan’s number. Forgiveness was so much easier when punishment had been meted. “I forgive you,” I whispered. I drove with a clarity of mind and a peace I hadn’t experienced in awhile.

My phone rang.

 “Hey,” I said softly.

 “So you done there? Whatever it is you’re so busy doing,”

He was warm and reassuring as always. I felt the warmth in me expand. “It was a difficult client, but the project’s done and dusted. No more.”

“Finally. You’ve been so tensed this week.”

“I know and I’m sorry, but I feel great now. I need a vacay.”

“Speaking of which…….. My business partner just got off the phone with me. He grudgingly let me take the entire September off!”

“Seriously?” I straightened up in my seat. Now this was something I could do with.

“Actually I bought tickets yesterday. Surprise! I’ve been dying to tell you.”

“You’re joking!” I said stunned.

 “Langley Virginia!” he announced. “We’re going to Langley, Virginia!”

I gasped. The headquarters of the Central Intelligence Agency in Homeland. The very agency where spy Carrie Mathison carried out her misdeeds. I screamed in delight.

“Oh my God!!! I love you Brody!”

He laughed. “Finally you say it! I’ve loved you since I saw you fall off your chair in Panacea.”

THE END.