The Truth About Love (3 page)

“This is so different from anything I’ve ever felt.  You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever known.  I…don’t get it.”  His forehead pressed against mine, his eyes closed as though deep in thought.

“That’s because it’s real,” I explained, as if I had any experience in this realm.  “True love never ends.”

His eyes shot open, a smile slowly spread across his face.  “Then I guess I’d better keep you.”  

I blame fairy tales.

There was something about being raised to in happily ever afters which set me up for disappointment.  Life isn’t like that.  Yet time after time, fairy tale after fairy tale, this was where the story ended.

We don’t get to see how Prince Charming snores, leaves the seat up, goes out hunting with the guys a little too often, or isn’t as loving and supportive as Cinderella imagined him to be.  Oh, and the prince?  Well, he might just tire of a bunch of rodents running around in clothes, coupled with a wife who talks to animals and bursts out in random songs.

The chase is what’s glorified.  It’s probably the biggest reason why marriages fail.  How can the monotony of every day life compare to the excitement of new love?

I’m convinced this is why there are so many divorces.  After all, divorce seems simple.  It’s the ultimate do over.  If the marriage didn’t result in happily ever after...no worries!  Go find someone new and start all over again.

At the same time, for those of us who are stubborn, who have a hard time giving up and giving in, how do we know when it’s time to let go, to move on, and then admit we made a horrific mistake?  What’s an acceptable excuse for sticking a fork in a relationship?  Historically speaking, this happened to be my weakness.  In past relationships, I had stayed far longer than I should have.  It had been a matter of pride.  I refused to give in.  Then I saw how my determination actually destroyed me bit by bit and finally found the strength to move on.

The longer we were together, the better I knew him, the more comfortable he was letting his demons show.  One night when we were alone in the house, Shane was walking around without a shirt on.  He loved showing off his muscular physique, which worked out well for me since I loved seeing it, loved touching his bare skin.  We stood for a moment in the kitchen after taking a shot of Jager. Slowly, he leaned his back against the counter and faced me.  Without thinking, I walked into his open arms, inhaled his scent to imprint it upon my soul, and kissed the broken heart tribal tattoo on his chest.

He stiffened as he spoke, his eyes darkening.  “Are you trying to heal my broken heart?”

Shaking my head, I responded calmly.
  “
Nope.  Just loving you.”

Shane released a sigh.  “Good.  It can’t be fixed.”
 
He looked down and instead of wrapping me up in those muscular arms and pulling me closer to his washboard abs and ample pecs, he stood straight, and his eyes stared off in the distance.  
“
Sometimes, I think you are only attracted to me because you want to fix me.” 

His demeanor had me tensing up.  Somehow, I knew what I said next was going to be really important.  After the last relationship, I had vowed to only speak the truth, no matter the consequences.  Shaking my head, I found the words I sought.
  “
Baby, until I got to know you, I didn’t even know you were broken.” 

It softened him.  My words worked.  They were magic.  In the time we’d been dating, he’d expressed how much he admired my ability to communicate, to speak eloquently, and to make an impact through simple speech.  Words did not come nearly so easily for him.

His mood changed, Shane simply held me close.  Bending his head, his chin in my hair, he finally spoke what was clearly bothering him.
  “
You make me want to be a better man, but I don’t want to change.  What are we going to do about that?”

With my chin on his chest, staring up into his pained eyes, I spoke and effectively sealed my fate.  “ I’m going to love you through it.”
 
I meant it too.  

Must be he liked my response because within seconds, his lips closed the distance to mine.  His kiss, so full of love.  It soon turned to passion and he carried me to the bedroom, closed then locked the door as we so often did, shutting out the rest of the world. 

That was five years ago.  Since then, we’ve been through it.  Time and again he put my words to the test.  As time passed, I realized he was more broken than I’d imagined.  Shane had more than a few moments where he angered quickly, over practically nothing.  While our drinking had once been a social act, over the winter the year after I moved in, it turned into his habit.  Though he had little work to occupy him during the off-season for construction, I had a secure year round position running an office.  More often than I’d like, I’d find him passed out when I returned at five in the afternoon.  His inclination to drunk-dial ex-girlfriends had me in knots.  Just when I’d about given up, he’d mend his ways, do something amazingly sweet, and win me back.

This was how we ended up engaged, when I had started considering moving out and looking for an apartment.  Then his drinking started hurting him.  A bout of pancreatitis landed him in the hospital.  I sat and listened as he lied to the doctor.

“How much would you say you drink in a day?” The young doctor asked, his face buried in paperwork as he took notes on the chart.

Shane pulled at his chin before answering.  “Well, I drink about a bottle a night.”

It was a lie.  His tolerance had increased.  His time alone had too.  Without anyone to entertain him, he drank his days away.  Still, I sat with my mouth shut.  We protect those we care about.  We don’t humiliate them and call them out on their bullshit.  We love them through it. 

“The small bottle or the big 750ml one?” This time the doctor set down his pen and stared at him while awaiting the respond.

“The big one.”  Shane shrugged like it was no big deal.  “I’m Irish.  I can handle it.”

My eyes rolled toward the ceiling.  His line could be traced back to Ireland, but he was as southern as they could come. 

“Your pancreas seems to disagree.  This is where the pain stems from.”  He folded his hands on the chart in his lap.

“Speaking of pain, can’t you give me something for it?”  Shane rubbed a hand over his mid section.  “I’m miserable.  I can’t sleep.  There’s nothing here I like to eat.  I’m in constant agony.”

“Sure, I can prescribe something, but you’re going to have to be careful.  Once we get you on the mend, you can’t mix any of these drugs with alcohol or could be lethal consequences.”  The doctor frowned at Shane as though he were having second thoughts. 

Why shouldn’t he?  I was.  Already I had discovered his propensity towards addiction.  I thought he was in control of things because his words always made me believe it, but over time my eyes saw differently.

A few days later he was released from the hospital, which was awesome since I’d spent every night with him.  I’d sleep there, get up early enough to drive home and shower before work, then return as soon as I clocked out of the office.  We shared a tiny hospital bed.  Getting back into our pillow top queen sized one seemed like a dream come true. 

Though I waited for him to begin drinking again, Shane abstained.  “I’m really proud of you for quitting drinking,” I commented offhandedly a few days after he’d come home from the hospital and not touched a drop of alcohol. 

“Well, I’m trying to be kind to my liver.”  He grinned.  “Plus, I checked out these pills.  Good stuff.  No acetaminophen.  I can take about as much as I want and I’ll be fine.”

Alarm bells went off in my head.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck.  Carefully, I broached the subject which now concerned me.  “You can’t be climbing ladders and running saws on these pills, let alone driving.”

“Babe, I’ll be fine.”  He walked over to me, tipped my chin and bent to kiss me.  It was a chaste kiss, a mere brushing of his lips against mine.  “You don’t understand how much I hurt.”

In an effort to escape the pain, both real and imagined, Shane moved from alcohol to pills.  He had multiple doctors prescribing him meds, and then he found friends and dealers to buy them from when he ran out. 

Several months later, I sprained my ankle and the doctor prescribed Vicodin. I made the mistake of leaving them on the counter in the bathroom.  Shane devoured them before I had recovered.  His addiction was out of control.

“How do you steal my meds?” I angrily shook the empty pill bottle in front of him where he lay on the couch.  He had crossed a line.  We shared a bank account.  As far as I had calculated, he had been spending roughly $1500 a week on illegal prescription drugs.  He worked merely to support his habit.  His spare time was devoted to chasing pills.

“Babe, if I don’t have them, I hurt.”  His face clouded over in worry. 

“Of course you hurt.  It’s withdrawal!  You’re killing yourself.  We’re supposed to get married in six weeks.”  I sank onto the sofa beside him.  Shane perked up some.  My hands dropped into my lap.  These next words pained me more than I had expected.  “I can’t do this anymore.  This is no life.”  Shaking my head, tears dripped down my face.

“What do you want from me?”  He sat up and reached for me, but I pulled away.

“I want to be able to carry on a conversation.  I want you around.  You care about the pills more than me.”  I bit my trembling lower lip.

“No I don’t!  Nothing is more important than you, but I can’t do this without the pills.”  His brow furrowed.

“Well, I can’t do this with them.”  Swiping at my eyes, I met his gaze for the first time.  “We don’t even have sex any more.”

Shane backed into the corner of the couch and glared at me.  “It hasn’t been that long.”

A hollow laugh escaped my throat.  “It’s been six months.”  My eyes narrowed.  “You don’t even know.”

“What?  You think I’m cheating on you?”  His hands rose in frustration.

Shaking my head, I scowled.  “Nope.  It’s the pills.  You can’t get it up.”

His voice was low, barely more than a whisper.  “It doesn’t feel good.”

I leaned close, one eyebrow raised in challenge.  “It’s the pills.  Because of them, you feel nothing.”  Without uttering another word, I rose from the couch and strode into the bedroom, not stopping until I had reached my walk-in closet.  Pulling out my suitcase, I laid it on the bed and unzipped it.  By the time Shane had entered the room, I had already emptied my sock and underwear drawer.

“You’re leaving?”  He stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “We’re through?”  His head hung, but I caught him glancing at me nervously.

“I deserve better than this.  I deserve a man who can be a husband, who loves me more than he loves getting high.”  I stood a few feet away from him, my arms crossed over my chest.  “I want marriage and kids.  I want to not have to worry when you’ll come home and if you’ll live another day.”

“You said you’d love me through it!”  His voice turned whiny. 

Frozen in place, his words hit me in the heart.  “I’ve been loving you through everything for three years.  I’ve loved you through the growing pains of letting go of your booty calls.  I’ve loved you through the alcohol.  I’ve loved you through the gambling.  Hell, I’ve loved you through one addiction after another.”  My hands fell to my sides.  “Don’t ask me to stick around and watch you slowly kill yourself.”  The tears started again, running down my burning cheeks like salty lava.  “I love you too much to do that.”  I turned away and opened the next drawer.

Shane came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my middle.  “I’ll quit.”  His voice shook as he spoke.  “Be patient with me.  We’ll get through the wedding and I’ll quit.”

Pausing, I considered his offer.  “Why not quit now?”  I twisted in his grasp to face him. 

“It’s too much with the wedding planning.  I don’t want to fall apart.  I want us to have a good day, a good weekend.”  He leaned over and kissed the tip of my nose.  “I love you, Nina.  I’ll always love you.  I can’t do this without you.”

Frowning, I stared at him.  He seemed frightened, even as he tried to act confident.  I clasped my arms around his neck.  This man.  I had to love him.  There was no other explanation.  “Promise,” I urged.

“Promise.”  He echoed.  The words were whispered in my ear, sending chills up and down my spine.  Tingles of longing began in dormant places.  He pressed his groin against me.  “Feel that,” he demanded.

For the first time in such a long time, Shane had an erection.  It seemed too much to hope for.  Slowly, he began to undress me, yanking my shirt up over my head.  He smiled as he reached behind me to unhook my bra.  As it slid down my shoulders, exposing my already hard nipples, he grinned. 

“Hello, girls,” he murmured as he dropped to his knees before me.  Seconds later, he had them in his mouth, lavishing attention on first one, then the other. 

My insides quivered in anticipation.  It had been so long, I’d be lucky to last three minutes with him inside me.  Eagerly, I undressed him, pulling his polo shirt over his head, then fumbling with his belt. 

“I got it.”  Shane seemed as impatient as me.

Soon, we were naked and rolling around passionately on the floor.  As I felt him press against my wet opening, I pushed on his chest.  “Condom.”  I reminded him gently.

Shaking his head, he frowned.  “We’re getting married soon.  It doesn’t matter.”  Then he turned his attention back to pleasuring me.

Four weeks later, a test confirmed I was pregnant.  Six weeks later, I was walking down a dock on a mountain lake to meet him under the gazebo and say our vows.  We had chosen an Irish handfasting ceremony.  It seemed even deeper and more meaningful than for better or for worse, even though it was implied.