The Grass Isn't Always Greener

Stunned, she nodded, whilst her brain tried to navigate the twist in the road. "But if six will hurt you, why twelve? That doesn't make sense."

"It does, but the reasons are mine. I don't have to tell you the thought behind it, I don't feel that you've earned an explanation or deserve one." Michel spoke as one deeply wounded, struggling with the words, trying to formulate them without breaking into tears, without sobbing, without letting his guard down and opening up his vulnerable interior.

"But we need to be honest, Michel. Please..." however his eyes were cold as he shook his head once more.

"No. We don't, not about this. You hurt me very badly, so this will be your penance.

"Secondly, there will be no us during this time. The wedding is cancelled, and we separate on a temporary and amicable basis. This will be easier than trying to rationalise to others why we may be seen in intimate situations with someone else, and it will give us the freedom that you seem so badly to want and need." He reached back to her, holding her hands in his once more, only this time he used the tenderness as mere artifice, deftly removing Hope's engagement band from her finger with a light twist and gentle pull.

"NOOO!" she screamed as the ring slipped from her possession, but her agonising cry meant nothing to Michel as he pocketed the ring and continued.

"As we will be separated, you will not wear my ring. The thought of you fucking another man while wearing it, even still having it in your possession, sickens me."

She was weeping a steady, unending stream of tears now.

"Thirdly, there will be no communication between us during this time. Nothing. No phone calls, texts, social media, no emails, no turning up at someone else's place. No using friends to check up, follow or stalk each other. We will simply not exist in each other's world."

She reeled further. No contact at all for twelve months, not together, not with the love of her life. No, this wasn't acceptable. They may as well be splitting, they were splitting, there was no other reasonable explanation.

"Are you breaking up with me?" she moaned, shocked and hurt. But he didn't respond, in truth, because he was nearing tears and had to concentrate on saying his piece. He had to let Hope know the guidelines, the rules and the structure that would surround them for the next year.

"And finally, you tell everyone who asks, the absolute truth as to why we are apart. You tell them that you wanted to have casual sex with others, that this was your decision. I will not be branded by anyone as the bad guy in this. I will not condone being seen as the one that broke us. If I hear even one single time that you lied, or misled people about our separation, I will not return."

"No, Michel. No. I don't want that, I don't agree to that, to none of that. Not now, not ever. In fact," she had an epiphany, the wheels and cogs turned in her mind as she tried to get ahead of this unfolding and unmitigated disaster. "I don't want this anymore, I don't want time away from you or from us. It was a mistake, a horrible mistake. I'm sorry. Truly, I'm so, so sorry."

He smiled weakly, taking his right hand and cupping her cheek. Even distraught as she was, she was still beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman he had known, and he hurt terribly from her pain, but it was pain that she had inflicted. The blade of her lust and desire that she wielded the previous night had been double edged, and in her indiscriminate attempts to brandish it, to use it to slice for herself a larger piece of pie, she had wounded herself grievously, as well as the man she loved.

"Sorry Hope, this has to be. I don't trust you not to seek out other men the moment my back is turned. I don't trust you at all. How did you think that this would end? Bringing up the fact that you want other men, mere months before we marry. You knew the dangers. It was obvious in the question you asked of Maddison, she even warned you about the risk it involved. You knew, yet you still pushed ahead. And that to me speaks volumes. This is something so important to you, that you were willing to risk our relationship, our wedding plans and all of our future together, for you own sexual gratification.

"No," he rose, leaving her on the couch with her pain, "this is happening."

He moved into the bedroom, taking down their two suitcases and his sports bags. "I'll take what I need now, and then, we'll be done. We rent, and nothing that I leave will be irreplaceable." He paused for a moment, surveying the bedroom, the place where he and Hope would make tender love, or fuck like rabbits. It was a sanctuary from the outside world, where they could shelter against the storms surrounding them, where the darkness and terrors of the world could never touch them. But now, as his gaze fell upon all the furnishings and trappings of the room, it was alien, it belonged to someone else, someone who would rather open her legs for others than open her heart for him.

"What about the rules?" she asked. Ishta had suggested a bunch of rules, and that strong, robust communication was critical.

"Safe sex? How many can we date, and how long between the dates? Is someone off limits? Michel, we need to work these things out, we need to agree on them." She took a pad and pen she had aside for such an occasion.

"The only rules are what I've said. I don't care about anything else. You're an adult, surely you can handle it. And as for safe sex. If you don't practice that, then you're stupid. Don't do it for me, do it for yourself and your partners."

He heard her wheezing sobs, but continued on undaunted, even though his heart was broken into thousands of shards, perhaps never to be remade whole.

"One year from now," he looked at his watch, pressing the button to bring up the date, "May twentieth, we will meet at The Brown Street Cafe at midday." He started hastily grabbing clothes, and personal effects that he would need, that he would want. "We'll meet and we can re-evaluate our relationship, and determine how to proceed."

He never looked back at her, never saw her curl into a foetal position, tucking her head into her knees and wrapping her arms about herself. Even if he did, at this point, he was beyond caring, beyond concern for the woman he loved. It's not that his love was suddenly gone, but that he couldn't go to her. It was a trap that would bind him to her, cede his resolve and give in. He had steeled himself, protected his heart as best as he could, carried out the plan that he had concocted with Jason's help, and delivered it. Now he was moving through and out of Hope's life, for the next twelve months at least.

The suitcases and gym bags were finally packed with his belongings, anything that he didn't have he would just buy again. As he started to move them towards the door, he finally looked down upon Hope. "May twenty, Brown Street Cafe, midday."

There was no answer but a gentle whimper.

"Hope?" he was trying his best not to reach for her, not to comfort her. He reminded himself that this horrible mess was all of her own making.

"Hope, do you understand?"

Still the only response was the low, stilted grief spilling from her.

He sighed. It was her that had started this ball rolling down the hill, and now that it had escaped her control it was she that cracked uncontrollably. She was dismayed by the trajectory and speed with which it beat a hasty retreat from her, taking Michel with it. Grabbing a piece of paper, he wrote the details upon it, then shaking his head, retreated himself.

"I love you, Hope," he said again as he left their apartment for the last time. This time, she offered no words or sound in response.

[ -- ]

When they had received no replies to their texts, Petra and Lila returned later in the day to find the front door unlocked and Hope still curled up on the couch in misery. Her chest and stomach ached from the incessant crying, each sob felt like broken glass was raking at her insides, but she couldn't stop, and she thought that she may literally never stop.

Her friends sat with her, laying ontop of her sweetly, wrapping their arms around her to both shield her and to give her warmth and love. They received no help from her in understanding what had happened, though it was clear that whatever had unfolded had been cataclysmic in the destruction it wrought.

Trisha and Eliza arrived in the early evening, bringing a good deal of alcohol with them. It was going to be work again the next day, but this disaster merited getting drunk, and getting drunk hard. Their friend needed them. To hell with work and uni.

It took time, delicate but concerted cajoling and a lot of alcohol, before Hope finally spilled it all. It was late at night, the girls sat in shock. Michel's empty wardrobe, the piece of paper with the hastily scribbled note, the missing engagement ring, and the fact that it now appeared that all their numbers were blocked by him certainly indicated the finality of his decision. They were all nails in the coffin and the slamming shut, even if only temporary, of that part of his and her life. And to what end? None dared think.

At 11pm, an alert came through on their phones, that the Facebook Event for Michel & Hope's Wedding had been updated, the event cancelled, and a short, bitterly cold post was set to allay and offset any questions.

Hope and Michel's wedding has been cancelled. Hope has requested time out from the relationship to explore her sexual attraction and desire for other men. She has given Michel permission to do likewise with women of his choosing. They have agreed to meet twelve months from now to re-evaluate their prior commitments and determine if there is still a future for them. Until then, there is no relationship to consider, and no wedding to plan or attend.

Almost instantly, they noticed an update to his instagram. He had posted a meme of a broken heart, captioned with the words, When the love of your life tells you that you aren't enough for her.

"Well," said a shocked Trisha, "Michel just dropped a couple of nukes. He is not letting you control the narrative. What are we going to do?"

There was no response. Everyone was too stunned and dismayed at the rapidly escalating state of affairs. Michel's thoughts were clearly being made available to all and sundry. Hope would need damage control and a lot of it.

As they were wondering, another, last post was sent to both platforms.

I had planned a special, romantic weekend for Hope and I. I had made bookings at a beautiful B&B in the Hunter Valley, with meals included. I no longer need it, if anyone could make use of it, please let me know.

"Fuck," was Hope's only response, a legitimate and merited response. A wonderful weekend lost, a relationship teetering on the edge, and no contact for twelve months with the man whom she loved.

"I hope this is all worth it," said a saddened Trisha. Tears welled at the corner of her eyes. She loved Michel, he had made her friend so happy. He had been kind and considerate, warm and protective, but now, Hope's greed and desire had ruined it all.

[ -- ]

Michel had left and found himself travelling without destination. He was driving without a goal in mind, aimlessly and randomly. He was feeling lost and his thoughts were indiscriminate and disconsolate. Eventually he found himself driving down a long, empty road. He had managed to exit the city and was now somewhere in a semi-rural area. He wasn't even sure where he was, determining that he needed to get his bearings. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and exited his vehicle. He walked around, slowly taking his time to stretch and take stock of his current predicament.

The enormity of the situation decided then and there to overwhelm him, and he screamed to the heavens. He screamed until his throat hurt and his lungs ached, and then he screamed some more. Kicking at stones and sticks in an outburst of rage and emotion as he finally let it all out, and gave way to the feelings of dread and horrific emptiness that he had held deep within since Hope's ambush the night before.

How could she do this to him, to them? Did she ever really love him?

He staggered to the wire fenceline of the nearby paddock, and leaned against one of the thick, wooden poles.. A cow stood nearby, inspecting him with large and uncaring eyes. Michel couldn't help but offer a sardonic smile, his life was unravelling, and all the cow wanted to do was eat grass. As he watched the cow, a calf moved cautiously out from behind it, following its mothers blank gaze towards Michel. The dejected man was a curious sight to the creatures, but they paid him no further heed, slowly wandering off, looking for greener grass.

Yes, he thought. That was it. He should have known and planned for this next step, but he hadn't considered more than the confrontation with Hope. As the calf was to the cow, he was to his parents. They'd protect him, they'd look after him, and even though he was no longer a child, and closer to thirty than twenty, he needed them now more than ever.

He identified where he was with the GPS on his phone. It would take close to two hours to reach his parents, but it was easily doable and he would be there by late afternoon.

It was whilst enroute that he called his principal, Gianna Knox. She was an older lady, by the book and known as a bit of a ballbuster. But it was mostly disingenuous and unwarranted. She was tough, but she was fair, treating everyone equally regardless of who they were. Her reputation was often fueled by those who wanted special treatment and had come unstuck.

"Hi Gianna," he started, his voice trembling. He knew that this was going to be difficult, potentially humiliating. He prayed that he could maintain some self respect, some level of decorum and wouldn't end up crying like a baby.

"Michel, you sound terrible. Is everything ok?" where Michel's voice was weak, Gianna's was firm and deep, almost masculine. It was this voice that also contributed to her stern and hard-nosed reputation.

"Not really." He could feel the start of the tears, the emotion was boiling up inside him once more. He swallowed hard, trying to hold it back. "Hope and I have separated. I'm," and it was all he got out before he began to blubber uncontrollably. So much for his pride he thought, but nothing could stem the flow of tears now. And he wept and wept.

Gianna was quiet, letting the younger man spill out his grief. She knew how much he loved Hope, everyone did, and it only stood to reason that he would be an emotional wreck right now. She herself had gone through a terrible separation when she was about his age, and it had scarred her for a long time, making relationships difficult if not impossible for years to come. And whilst she knew nothing yet of the circumstances, the reason was meaningless next to the fact that something so important and critical to the young man had now ended.

"Michel," she eventually said, when the sobbing subsided enough that she thought she could speak meaningfully with him. "Michel, I know it hurts, and it feels like the end of the world, but you don't have to worry about anything here at the school, ok? I'd have to check, but I can't recall you taking any sick leave for a long time. Take a few days, a few weeks. Just let me know, ok?"

He nodded, but in his car, she couldn't see. Finally he let out a small and feeble "Thanks."

"And Michel," she continued, softening her voice and trying to appeal warm and matronly, "if you need to talk, I'm here for you. Call me anytime. Anytime at all. I know what you're going through. I know how bad a break up can affect someone. You don't have to do this alone."

He mumbled something, an affirmation perhaps, she wasn't sure. His voice was so soft, and filled with so much pain. He disconnected, leaving Gianna's heart aching for the young man. Then with a sense of ominous apprehension she started to consider the repercussions. What would happen when news got out that he was now suddenly available? He was handsome, fit, attentive and personable. She shook her head as she realised that her school was soon to be a meat market, with Michel the prime rib for all the hungry, single (and some not so single), female staff members.

"Fuck." she said, a wry smile on her lips.

It was nearing dusk when Michel pulled into his parent's driveway. They were surprised to see him arrive unannounced, and the look on his face made them fearful for their son. When he pulled out his bags without so much as a word and started inside, his mother crushed him in her arms, burying her face into his chest as she cried. She could see the pain, and knew that his relationship with Hope was in trouble, if not over, the wedding most likely cancelled. He stood firm for a minute, before excusing himself from her grasp.

"Michel?" but he waved her away as his father, Francois looked on quietly, worry etched upon his face.

Michel made the mournful walk, as though in a funeral parade, through their house and towards his old room. When he had moved out years ago to be with Hope, it had been refitted to that of a guest bedroom, and bore no resemblance to what he once had. But it was private, with a comfortable bed and that was all he needed for now. Michel closed the door behind him, stowed his bags in the closet, and then collapsed, still clothed onto the queen-sized mattress. He could hear his mother, Jean, sobbing at the door. She ached to go to him, to comfort him, he was still her baby boy. But his father held her close, and whispered "Leave him his privacy. He'll talk when he wants to talk."

Michel slept the fitful rest of the anguished, waking only a couple hours later. As he lay atop the covers of the bed, he replayed all that had happened in the previous twenty-four hours. The grief was palpable. The shame that his lover and best friend, the woman he would have bet his life on, could deem him not enough to the point she needed sex with other men, shredded his insides and his dignity.

It was then, in a fit of pique, that he grabbed his phone and made the updates to both Facebook and Instagram. It was cathartic, and looking upon his work, he smiled ruefully. He had to make sure that all their friends and relatives knew the truth, because even though he had demanded that she be honest with everyone, he didn't think that he could trust her, not now. Maybe he would never trust her again.

Switching his phone back off, before the myriad of calls and texts came through, as he knew they must, he dropped back onto the bed in defeat. His hand reached inside his pocket and withdrew the elegant engagement ring that he had bought for Hope only a few months earlier. It glittered in the light that streamed above him from the LED fixture. The single diamond was perfect, the ring was perfect, the gold was perfect. But it was all a lie. It was supposed to signify eternal, unbroken love and the promise of an endless future for the two of them. Now, it was just a pretty bauble marred by deceit and duplicity.

He tossed it onto the side table, and then stripped down to his boxers before climbing under the sheets and doona.

"Why didn't she tell me before I proposed, before she accepted?" His thoughts swirled, and it wouldn't be the last time he asked himself that question.

[ -- ]

It was two weeks after the temporary end of their relationship, that Hope first slept with another man. His name was Orlando, a strikingly handsome man with long blonde hair and full of self confidence. It had taken him a couple of nights to get her into his bed after he spotted the beautiful young woman surrounded by friends night after night at The Green Room, a nightclub known for loud music, expensive alcohol, and an even more expensive cover charge. It was also infamous for being an excellent pickup joint.