DISCLAIMER: uh-uh. not mine.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: the title comes from a song in the Sondheim musical “Follies.” yes, this is a rentfic, bear with it if you don’t realize who’s talking at first.

Losing My Mind
by kaydee falls

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I dim the lights
And think about you,
Spend sleepless nights
To think about you.
You said you loved me,
Or were you just being kind?
Or am I losing my mind?
--from “Follies”
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You love me.

You love me not.

You love me.

You love me not.

Do you see what you’ve reduced me to? No, of course not. By the time you come home every day, I’ve cleaned away the scattered petals and stems, put on my happy mask. I greet you with a cute little kiss as you enter, tell you that dinner’s on the table. You smile, hang up your jacket, join me.

Well, those are the evenings you come home at all.

Other times, I get a call, usually around four in the afternoon. “Hey, baby, I’m sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. I’ve got a meeting with an investor, an appointment , something to take care of, a business trip. I’ll be home later, tomorrow, in a couple of days, next week. Love ya, baby. Bye.” It’s always about the same. I’ve learned to hate the telephone.

I pretend not to notice.

Trust me, baby, I notice. I notice when you come home smelling of cheap wine and other girls. I notice when you look at me like you don’t know what I’m doing there. I notice when your bad moods can’t be explained away by investors or overwork. I notice when you wonder why you ever married me.

Why did I ever marry you?

Oh yes, I remember now. It was because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me. You told me so, anyway. I believed you, of course. Why wouldn’t I? It was what I wanted to hear.

I’m the perfect wife, dear. I don’t complain. I don’t argue. I don’t keep you away from your friends. And I don’t tell anyone that you’re sleeping around. Not even myself.

I’ve tried to keep from admitting it to myself for far too long. But it’s becoming obvious, love. You’re getting sloppy. Or cocky, perhaps. I can’t pretend to be blind for much longer. Sooner or later I’ll have to confront you with it. And then, what will you do? Leave me? Or change? How valuable am I to you, baby?

I got a phone call today, sweetheart. From one of your old friends. You must have pissed someone off. I never thought any of them would side with me. They always hated me. What did you do, that they suddenly hate you more?

I guess I can’t convince myself that you’re only with them, all those days and nights you avoid me. I tried telling myself that you spent time with them, alone, because they didn’t like me and you didn’t want things to be uncomfortable. I wanted you to be with them. They were nice, solid people, even though they didn’t get along with me. They lived a little dangerously, but I wouldn’t have forbid you from spending time with them. Everyone needs friends.

Do you have any anymore?

It wasn’t a friendly phone call, honey. It sounded like revenge to me. It was also a little too detailed for my tastes. Even though I already knew, knowing inside and being told are two different things. It hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot.

I can’t ignore it anymore.

I love you. I hate you. I’m jealous. I’m upset. I’m nervous. I’m determined. I think I’m losing my mind.

I suddenly wish that you won’t come home at all. Ever again. Then I won’t have to talk to you, ever again. But I do love you. I need you. Even if you don’t love or need me, you married me, and you have to stand by that commitment. I realize that yes, I am too valuable for you to leave me.

The door opens, and you’re home.

I don’t rush to kiss you. I hang back, letting my eyes take in every inch of you. You’re so beautiful, my love, my hate.

You smile, cocky, lopsided. As always. A little surprised that I haven’t run up to you, but not concerned about it. Not yet. “Hey, baby,” you say.

“Where were you last night?”

Worry lines begin to play across your forehead, but you still smile. “I told you, I had a lot of paperwork to get done, and I --”

“Were you with her?”

You swallow. You smile vanishes. But you surprise me. You don’t try to protest, to deny everything. “As a matter of fact, no,” you sigh. “She ran off a few weeks ago. I haven’t heard from her since.” You don’t meet my eyes. “Who told you?”

“One of your friends,” I say softly. “He didn’t give me his name, and I didn’t ask. I don’t want to know which one betrayed you.”

“Neither do I, I guess,” you say, sadly. A long moment passes. “I’m sorry,” you finally offer up, feebly.

I close my eyes for a second, steeling myself. If I let you get to me, I won’t be able to go through with this. You’ll make me accept your apology, and then let it slide, and you’ll just go back to her afterwards. I’m ready. “I don’t want you going back there,” I say, trying to make my voice icy. It doesn’t work, but that isn’t important. Your head jerks up as I continue. “Your investors will understand. You’ll tell them that the East Village location would prove to be ultimately unprofitable, and pursue your other locations instead, maybe the Upper West Side. You’ll pull out of the East Village completely. You won’t have any offices there anymore. You will sell the building where your friends live, and any others you own in the area. I don’t follow your work too closely, I don’t know exactly. But your friends will be paying someone else the rent.”

Your mouth has dropped open. You didn’t think I’d ever actually do this, did you? “Alison --” you start, but I’m not finished yet.

“And if I ever hear of you going back there, or of this Mimi meeting you anywhere else, I’ll divorce you so fast, it’ll make your head spin. I don’t need to remind you that my father is your principal investor. Do you understand me?” I meet your gaze, defiant and sad. I haven’t raised my voice at all.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. You look helpless, defeated, and even a little angry. But this is all for the best, Benny. You’ll see.

I go up to our bedroom, close the door, and cry. I did it. I told you off. I made you dance to my tune. But even though I won, I still feel hopelessly lost.

You love me.

You love me not.

I’ll never know. And I feel like I’m losing my mind.
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i was supposed to be doing english homework, but i wrote this in half an hour instead. oops. so, yeah, like? i just wondered what muffy -- er, alison -- would be thinking when she “pulled Benny out of the East Village location.”