Chapter 3

"... We're wounded by fear, haunted in doubt, I can lose myself, you I can't live without..."

After three months of this kind of dating -- going out then returning to either my place or hers and going to bed -- I realized that things were getting far too serious for me to stay in school, and continue seeing her. I was getting behind because she expected me to be at her beck and call every night. I was also beginning to wonder why we made the pretense of going out in the first place. Obviously, we were both in it for the sex, but I felt like she was trying to make me feel more.

The less I studied, the more behind I got -- big surprise. I had decided to break up with her one Monday afternoon in February and was going to tell her that night. I knew if I didn't settle down and get to work then, I wasn't going to make it through the semester with passing grades. Then she dropped a bombshell on me.

"Glen, I think it would be a good idea if we moved in together. It seems pointless to continue to have two separate places when you're at my apartment or I'm at yours every night of the week."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Kath, I kinda like having my own place."

"Oh, so now you just don't care. Is that it? Or is it another woman? You seeing someone on the side?" she snapped, harshly.

"No, it's nothing like that. It's just that I don't think I'm getting enough time to study and it's hurting my grades. I was thinking that we should be spending less time with each other. I mean I'm seeing you every night and I really am getting behind in school. Besides, at the end of the semester you graduate, and I can take some time off from school just to spend with you." I hated to admit it, but her forceful personality was really causing me to have feelings for her. I've always been intrigued by strong personalities, especially on women.

"Look, if you move in, I'll let you have all the time you need to study. We can get a two bedroom apartment, turn the other bedroom into a study and you can use it and I promise I won't be in your hair." With that statement she turned to me with her big brown eyes wide and sad looking. When she did that I couldn't ever tell her no. I really hate it when I cave-in to a woman like that, but sometimes, it's inevitable. They look at you just the right way, and suddenly something crumbles inside and all your good resolutions go out the window. As a result, I find it easier to give in or compromise, than to fight -- my shrink says I'll get over it; I agree.

So, I moved in with her, albeit under some duress. Her lease had been up anyway, so we signed a three month joint lease for a two bedroom in the same complex. I hoped that everything would work out, but deep in my gut I wasn't sure. I had been all ready to break up with her and now I was just confused. She didn't stay out of my hair, and by the end of the semester, I had all but failed out. I decided that I wouldn't go back to school in the fall, especially since Kathy had graduated in June, and would just try to find a job. Kathy had graduated, gotten hired at a retail store as a manager trainee, and would be working days, so I went looking for daytime employment.

Meanwhile, our weekends were spent looking for a new apartment. Since Kathy felt we could afford it on our combined income, we were looking for one in a more affluent neighborhood than we had been. I had almost no say in the matter since I wasn't working yet, and went along with her decisions. The whole time she kept telling me how wonderful it was going to be, us living together, having a new apartment, etc. I think she may have been trying to convince herself as much as me.

"... and then your wife seems to think you're part of the furniture, oh it's peculiar, she used to be so nice..."

We found a nice apartment on the east side of town, north of the University, and, eventually, I was able to find a job waiting tables at a classy restaurant nearby. Our schedules remained fairly compatible for the first few months, as I was working more lunches than dinners and we were able to spend our evenings together. As I got more experienced, the more dinners I began working, and the more moody she seemed to become. I would come home at night around 10:30 and there she was just sitting on the couch with the T.V. on and an empty bottle of vodka in her hand. The empty bottles bothered me, but I wasn't going to talk to her about it. I've done my share of drinking and it would seem hypocritical of me to accuse her of being an alcoholic. I was also scared of starting a fight with her. She tended to 'hit below the belt' whenever we got into a fight. She would bring up things that she knew bothered me -- my not finishing school, the kind of job I had, all my insecurities, threatening to leave, anything to get a reaction -- and use them against me in order to win the argument.

When I would step into the apartment, she would start in on me.

"Where the hell have you been?" she would demand, slurring one word in ten, "Do you know what time it is? Jesus Christ, all you do is go out and whoop it up with your friends and never do anything around here. Why'n the hell didn't you clean the dishes before you left? You drive me to drink with your inconsiderate behavior... "

It never seemed to matter to her that I rarely went out with friends after work. In fact, on the off chance that I was going out after work, I always invited her along. More often than not she declined and tried to guilt trip me into coming home.

It went on and on. Then on other nights when I'd come home, or on my nights off, she was just the sweetest person in the world. I couldn't understand it. I grew to hate the Jekyll and Hyde personality that the liquor brought on. I began to feel sorry for her, because she obviously had a problem and I couldn't seem to help her. No matter what I did, she seemed to think I was causing her habit. She would go to work in the morning, and I would spend my day off cleaning the house. At five, she'd come home and not even notice. But the next night, I would get home from work and she'd be mad that there was a dish in the sink and not in the dishwasher. It became very disturbing.

The nights she stayed sober were wonderful. At first, she would be sober most of the time when I came home. Then it became three or four nights a week she stayed sober -- usually when she knew I would be home early. We could talk on those nights, and make up for anything we fought about. She would agree not to be so petty, and I would agree not to take it all personally, and to pay more attention to her. Unfortunately, the deals stayed pretty one-sided, I would give her all the attention she wanted, and she would still be petty.

She then began to get me little things to make up for the nights we fought. Things she would see leaving her job at the mall that she knew I wanted, or had commented on -- new shirts, CD's, books, etc. After awhile, I felt like she was trying to buy my attention.

"Glen, honey," she purred one night as I walked in from work, "I found a little something for you at the mall tonight." From behind her back she produced a U2 CD I'd been looking at the week before when we were out shopping.

I looked it over. "Thanks, Kath," I sighed, "but you know we really can't afford to be buying things like this all the time. It's not like we have a lot of money to spare, especially with the rent due next week."

"I just wanted to get you something nice," she stated flatly as she stormed off. I started to go after her. I wanted to apologize and tell her that I appreciated the thought, but I couldn't find the words. Even if I did, there was no guarantee that she would accept my apology. I decided to let it blow over. Besides, I was right, we couldn't afford it, especially the way she was running up her credit card bills. I slept on the couch that night, and she got drunk in the bedroom.

After that, she started getting drunk more often and I rarely remember her being sober more than one or two nights a week, and those were usually the nights I didn't work and could prevent her from having a drink by doing things with her -- like going to a movie, giving her a back rub when she got home, etc.

Then one night I got off early from work and arrived home to find that she wasn't home. The message on the answering machine said that she was going to a rock concert with a friend and she be home around 11. Originally, the plan had been for me to get home early, and then we were going out with some friends, so needless to say, I was a bit miffed.

Eleven turned into twelve and twelve turned into one, she hadn't returned. I was worried, so I called her friend.

"Is Kathy with you Denise?"

"No she's not, didn't she get home yet?"

"No she didn't. Do you have any idea where she went?"

"No, I sure don't. I'll call you if I hear from her, though."

"Thanks Denise."

With that, I slumped into a chair to wait. I wasn't sure if I really was bugged that she wasn't home or if it was something I had known was coming and now had given me an excuse to get out of a bad relationship. I also felt like Denise had lied to me. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but it was like she knew something I didn't.

"... we are like sheep without a shepard, we don't know how to be alone, so we wander around this desert and wind up following the wrong gods home..."

Around two, I finally heard her car door slam, and a couple of minutes later, she staggered in.

"What are you still doing up," she slurred as she unsteadily weaved across the room. It had been a long time since I had seen her this drunk, she was usually locked in the bedroom.

"Waiting for you," I snapped, "where the hell have you been? I've been worried sick about you." It probably wasn't smart to attack her the way I did, but I thought that maybe if I started it on her terms, I could get through to her.