A Toxic Affair Read online

You still haven’t been talking to me. Why are you ignoring me? Is there anything you’re hiding from me?”

  Sam paused. “You mean, am I cheating on you?”

  She didn’t reply, but he knew that was what she meant.

  “Sandy, why would you even think that? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Well what about that picture?” she demanded haughtily.

  “Picture? What picture?”

  “On facebook. Of you and that… slut.”

  “Slut?” he asked, but even as he spoke he worked out what she was talking about. Last night he had been to a party and, inevitably, photos had been taken, one of which depicted him and Betty, one of his friends from school. “That picture? You mean the one where I’m with a tall, red-haired girl who’s wearing a pink dress?”

  “Yes. That one. So you admit it?”

  “No I don’t admit it Sandy! That’s Betty. She’s my friend. And we’re not even doing anything in the picture- just standing next to each other. Really, Sandy? You really thought that that was evidence of cheating?”

  She evaded the question. “I don’t like her. I don’t want you seeing her again.”

  Sam was livid. And, hundreds of miles away from her in Scotland, he had no need to listen to her tripe. “Goodbye, Sandy,” he said, and slammed the phone down.

  Day 70

  Sam had managed to avoid Sandy for four days now. Four long, glorious days in which he had not mentioned her, spoken to her, looked at her or listened to her.

  Except those days weren’t glorious. Because he had not been able to stop thinking about her.

  With each day that passed, the mountain of guilt within him grew. It was, perhaps, worse that she was not around, for now her replacement was his imagination, taking on her role and giving her words that even she would not have used. He could hear her, day in, day out, screaming accusations from within his skull. Why haven’t you spoken to me? Why are you ignoring me? You haven’t been seeing that Betty, have you, or that Sadiq? Because you know how I hate them.

  The constant, gnawing, biting voice had drained away his soul. He did not even fight it anymore. Rather, he just lay there on his bed, gaunt in body and soul. It had such an effect on him that even his parents had noticed. He did not tell them why he was so thin and drawn, so depressed and lifeless, for he could not defame Sandy in front of anyone- or else she, real or imagined, would make his life even more of a hell.

  He isolated himself from the world. Every time he saw Charlotte or his mum or his dad, he could imagine them shouting down at him, hating him for how he was feeling. How could you be so terrible to her, they were accusing him in his mind. How could you be lying to her, disobeying her, disrespecting her? We’ve met her, and she’s nice. We don’t like you. You deserve your pain.

  Day 73

  “Goodbye, Sam,” came the message on the computer screen in front of him.

  The message reached Sam’s screen in a millisecond through the miracle of MSN messenger. “Goodbye? Why goodbye?” he replied.

  “I’m sitting here with a knife and I’m about to cut myself.”

  Sam’s stomach lurched. “Why?” he typed back urgently. “Sandy, don’t do it.”

  No reply.

  He gulped. He hated lying, but there was nothing else for it in this situation. It was better to lie than to be responsible for someone’s death.

  “Sandy, I love you,” he typed. “I know we’ve hit a snag in our relationship but all couples do. We’ll work through it. I promise.”

  He felt sick as he wrote it but he had no choice. Part of him suspected that this was nothing more than manipulative attention seeking, a show of bravado to scare him into staying, but a larger part of him feared that her threat may be genuine. He could not live with her death on his conscience.

  For two agonising minutes, he sat at his laptop screen waiting with baited breath for the reply he hoped would come.

  “Okay,” she replied. “I won’t cut myself now.”

  Sam gasped in relief.

  “Good. Thank you,” he typed. “But were you seriously going to kill yourself?”

  No reply. He continued:

  “I know we haven’t been quite what we used to be lately, but that’s no reason to threaten suicide. That’s just selfish. Forget me for a moment and think of your friends- how would Molly and Susie feel if you were dead? Or Brandon? Or your little brother? Can you imagine the pain you’d cause them?”

  She didn’t reply for a moment and he began to wonder whether she had actually gone through with it. Then:

  “I wasn’t really going to do it.”

  I wasn’t really going to do it. He sat back from the computer for a moment, thinking. Relief was the first thing he felt. But as he contemplated it more, he realised what she had done. She had deliberately threatened suicide in a cynical attempt to provoke an emotional reaction in him. To manipulate him.

  “So you mean that was just an attempt at cruel manipulation?” he typed back.

  “You haven’t spoken to me for a week,” she replied. “I thought something was up.”

  “So you threatened suicide? You tried to play with my emotions and terrify me that you might die?”

  “You deserve it.”

  Sam hesitated, unsure how to reply. Truth be told he was sick of her now and was glad that it was the Christmas holidays: he was at home in London, while she was miles away in the northern straits of Scotland. She could not control him from there.

  “Whatever,” was his reply, and he logged off to evade her.

  Yet still he could not escape. Her words were gone, his screen was off, but his mind was still buzzing. You lied, it screamed at him. You don’t love her, but you said you did. You lied. He tried to justify it by saying that he had beeen trying to save her life, but those words could not get through to his heart, the home of his emotions. They still weighed him down like a proverbial cannon ball. Every day was greyed by the weight of that guilt around his neck: guilt at lying, yes, but also guilt at disobeying her. She had told him that he deserved it, and at some deep level of his soul, he believed her. He believed that he was unworthy, insensitive, selfish, boring- all the things she had ever called him, swirling about inside his mind.

  It puzzles him to this day why he put up with it. He can see a reason, though: for she was his ultimate critic, the ultimate challenge; she who knew him best could just him best, and she judged him badly. He was a bad person. He knew that then. And so every day he would try to live up to her exacting standards of where to sit, what to do, when to do it; it was all he deserved. He did not deserve freedom or happiness or independence. He was a bad, bad boy.

  A bad, bad boy who was to return to his jailor soon. Christmas holidays were over soon; within the week he would be returning to University, and to her. He dreaded it in his soul. But what could he do? He had harboured a secret desire to end it for a long time, but he was simply unable. The thought of the accusing eyes of everyone around him glaring down at him, judging him- it terrified him. He was a bad person. He was wrong to want to leave her. And he had always striven to do what was right, to be a good boy- so logically, he had to stay with her. There was no other way. He did not deserve his freedom.

  But nor did she deserve to be deceived. The choice fell to him: does he hurt her, or lie to her? He wanted to do neither, but had to do one; and whichever one he chose, he would plunge himself into a new cesspit of guilt. Of self-made guilt.

  It was not her fault. No, he deserved it. The daily pain he lived through, the absolute dullness and greyness and suffering of life- that was his fault. She should not be made to pay for his sins.

  After all, he deserved it.

  Day 86

  Sam was back in Birmingham by now and he was hating every minute of it.

  The Christmas holiday had done him good, however. Before the holiday, the empty aching of his suffering soul had felt normal; he had been gripped by it for so long that he had simply forgotten how to feel happy. Going
home, though, had reminded him that such misery was not normal and nor was it acceptable. Coming back from the relative comfort of a happy home with a loving mum and a supportive dad, he was determined not to allow himself to sink back into the mire he had pulled himself out from.

  But he still couldn’t leave her. Call it insanity, but he was determined to try to make it work, even if things needed to change.

  So he had called a meeting with her: today, in the Yardbird jazz club at one o’clock. He had a message for her.

  She came in, shaking. He had told her to meet her there last night, and evidently it had not gone down well with her. She had spent the night fearing the worst.

  “Sit down, please,” he requested.

  She did. “What’s this all about?” she demanded.

  “Well,” he began falteringly, “I’ve been thinking.” His words stopped there. He honestly had no idea what to say next.

  “And?” she demanded. “What have you been thinking?”

  He smiled sheepishly up at her and fumbled in his pocket for a piece of paper on which he had made some notes. They were smudged and almost illegible; they would be no help at all.

  So he was forced to make it all up on the spot.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he repeated, “because, erm, there’s a problem, and, I’ve not been happy, so, I’ve been thinking that, maybe, if you like, we-”

  “We break up? Is that what you’re going to say? You want to dump me?”

  “What? No!” he said, shocked. “I told you last night I’m not going to do that. No.”

  “Then what? Spit it out, boy.”

  “I think… I think we should see less of each other.”

  She took it surprisingly well.

  “Okay. Is that all?”

  “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “So you kept me up all night last night with worry just for this?”

  Sam was gobsmacked. He had not meant to cause this reaction.

  “You know, I’ve told all my friends what you did, and they all think you’re a twat.”

  “What did I do?”

  “This! You told me that you had a message for me and that you weren’t going to dump me. Well, what was I supposed to think? You had me sick all night with worry.”

  With that, she stormed off, leaving Sam sitting there in a state of shock.

  Shock, but also happiness.

  Day 87

  Things had somewhat cooled down since yesterday. Sandy had forgiven him (on the proviso that he face a punishment as “you deserve it”) and he had gotten a night off from her. Perhaps, just perhaps, this seeing-less-of-each-other thing might work.

  They had agreed to meet up after lecture for a coffee. Sam was paying, of course.

  “I hate what you did to me yesterday,” said Sandy angrily.

  “I’ve said sorry.”

  “Yes, I know. But do you know what I did last night? I had to call up Molly and Susie for a girls’ night out and get drunk to cheer myself up. You owe me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry’s not good enough. I’ve got to think of a suitable punishment for you now.”

  Sam cringed. But, after all, she was right. He deserved it.

  “You know,” she said, laughing, “I got so drunk last night I ended up making out with Susie. But it’s alright because I was drunk. I was actually so drunk I thought it was you.”

  “Oh.”

  “What do you mean, ‘oh’? It’s not like I was cheating. Besides, I was upset.”

  Sam smiled bleakly.

  “Anyway, where’s my coffee? Get it for me now.”

  Day 95

  “It’s not working, Sadiq. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  “So dump her.”

  “I can’t. I mean, I really can’t. Can I?”

  “You can. There’s nothing stopping you. From what you’ve told me, you deserve better.”

  Sam and Sadiq were sitting in New Horizons, a Shisha bar in a suburb of Birmingham called Newtown. It had been a long time since he had seen Sadiq, owing to the fact that Sandy had banned him from seeing him. But he had found a new, rebellious flare since finding out that she had cheated on him. Okay, she was drunk and “thought it was him” (a claim even he struggled to believe), but that still wasn’t acceptable.

  It had all begun on that day by the canal. And since then, everything had built up in that small corner in the back of his mind: the total control she demanded over every part of his life; the fact that she expected him to pay for everything and do everything; the fact that she thought it okay to kiss and flirt with other people, while demanded complete fidelity from him. That admission eight days ago had been the last straw until finally, fearfully, Sam had resolved to rebel against his master and go and see his friend.

  It had not been easy. It had felt wrong, to be honest. He had been shaking as he pressed “send” and was looking over his shoulder the whole way here in case she were following; in case she might see. Yet now he was here, and the flavoured smoke of the Arabic bongs was soothing his soul and relaxing him. He was in friendly company now.

  “Let’s review what you’ve told me,” began Sadiq. “She’s Islamophobic, she’s controlling, she’s distrustful at the same time as being unfaithful and she’s manipulative. She’s making your life hell, Sam. Just get out.”

  “I can’t,” mumbled Sam into his chest.

  “Yes, you can. Believe me, she’s taking you for a ride.”

  Sam looked into the eyes of his Arabic friend. It was good to see a friendly face who accepted him for who he was. It must have been months since he had seen anyone but Sandy; even at home, even with the concerned intrusions of his parents and sister, he had been blinded to their care by his inner turmoil. And as he gazed at his friend’s caring visage, it was as if a wave of revelation hit him.

  “I can?”

  “Yes, you can.”

  And suddenly all those images in his head collapsed: all the sneering faces and hateful looks he had so terribly feared would come his way if he ever disposed of Sandy were gone from his imagination, for here was a replacement image of a kindly friend concerned for his wellbeing. He could leave her, and he would not be a bad person for it.

  But his mind was not entirely clear. Because what about her friends? What would Susie and Molly think of him? Sandy often reminded him that they thought he was a twat, a dick, a bastard, a whatever, based on the stories she told of him. Surely, surely they would hate him even more if he was to leave her?

  “She’s lying, mate,” explained Sadiq. “She has to be. She’s just telling you ‘all my friends think this…’ so that you’ll get round to her way of thinking. I bet if you asked all your friends, you’d get a lot of positive support from them.”

  Sam smiled sadly. “I don’t really have many friends,” he admitted, and he was right. Sandy’s influence had turned him into a recluse, a loner; all the people who could have been his friends had drifted away from him. While they had been on nights out on the town, he had been confined to quarters; while they had been out doing sports on a Wednesday afternoon, he had been doing his master’s bidding.

  “And whose fault is that?” challenged Sadiq. “Mate, you’re harming yourself by staying with her.”

  “Yeah,” said Sam dreamily. Yet his mind was elsewhere; he was thinking of the possible ways of leaving her, and finding none. In each scenario, he envisioned her face growing angry, her voice growing stern and ordering him to stay- and she had such a hold over him even now that he knew he would obey.

  It wasn’t even a matter of obedience. Really, it was about compassion. He hated seeing anyone hurt or upset, even people he didn’t like, and knew that dumping her would cause her pain. He would rather take that pain on himself than inflict it on another.

  “Snap out of it, man!” called Sadiq. “Now are you going to man up and get out of there or what?”

  “I’ll… I’ll try…” Sam offered. Sadiq sighed, but he knew that was as
good as he was going to get. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go. And I’m taking you home, you hear me, to your room. You’re not going to see her tonight. It’s for your own good.”

  It was nice for someone else other than Sandy to take charge, for a change. He wearily accepted Sadiq’s demands and allowed him to walk him home.

  Day 96

  Sam was ready to follow Sadiq’s advice. He had spent the night priming himself, getting himself ready to pull the plug and take his freedom.

  Until, that is, he read the news.

  “Car Bomb Explodes in Fort William” it read, and the article detailed how an Al Qaida car bomb had accidentally exploded in the northern Scottish town while en route to its actual destination of Edinburgh.

  Fort William. That was where Sandy’s family lived.

  “Sandy, have you heard the news?” he asked her when they met that evening.

  “What news? No, why?”

  “There’s been an explosion in Fort William. Are your family alright? Have you heard from them?”

  Wordlessly she picked up her phone and rang home, her cheeks pale. Within a minute she was smiling as she discovered that they were okay- although in such a close-knit community, they were bound to know one of the victims. Mrs. Crocket, the butcher’s wife, had been caught in the explosion. She was currently in hospital; the doctors were saying she should pull through, but they may have to amputate her leg.

  Sandy didn’t need comforting. They had been less than acquaintances. But the moment had gone; Sam couldn’t leave her now.

  So he spent another night in her company, another night in his prison.

  Day 99

  “Did you do it then, man? Are you single now?”

  “No.”

  Sadiq sighed. “What happened?”

  “You remember that explosion in Fort William? That’s her home town. I couldn’t exactly leave her on the day her family might have died.”

  “Right,” thought Sadiq. “And did they die?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Were they even injured?”

  “No.”

  “So what was stopping you, man?”

  Sam couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. He knew something like this would come up again and again each time he tried to leave her. She had too strong a grip on him. The guilt and fear would have weighed him down even if the explosion had not happened, so he resigned himself to staying with her.

  Day 100

  So that’s how it had come to this: Sam Johnson, slave of Sandy, delivering her pizza. He had by now fetched the Meat Feast they had ordered from Dominos and was on his way back to her room.

  Her room, his prison.

  She knocked on the door reluctantly.

  “Come in,” she called sultrily. “We’re watching Gossip Girl tonight.”

  He looked at her with a look that would have questioned her choice of TV show, had he not known her so well.

  “What? It’s your punishment.”

  “What did I do this time?”

  “You saw Sadiq today. I told you not to. And don’t think you’re getting any tonight either, Mister. I don’t give out to people who disobey me.”

  He would have sighed, had he not known her so well.

  “And no,” she said suddenly.

  “No to what?” puzzled Sam.

  “No to whatever it is you were going to say. If, that is, you were going to say anything. You’re going to stay in with me tonight