A Face At The Window

She’s just sitting there, that face in the window, staring at me.  She has no feelings, no expression.  She feels no pain now.  Her face shows no trace of make-up, her eyes are glazed, her hair limp and lifeless.

She sits in a shapeless t-shirt come nightdress; once white with a colourful picture on the front and the slogan ‘so many men – so little time’, both faded.  The t-shirt a dull uninteresting shade of grey.  The colour of her life.

It wasn’t always like that.  Not so long ago her life was every colour of the spectrum.  The life and soul of many a party.  But not now.  Before she could keep up with the best of them, now they have left her lagging behind.

She has no chance left of catching up.

It was when he happened that things started to go wrong, but then, what did you expect?  It was deadly to fall for him, and yet you couldn’t help yourself.  You couldn’t resist and you kept going back for more.

That’s what happened to her.

After a while she lost interest in anything and anyone.  She spent all her days and nights at the bar.  Soon he had her hooked on him like the drug he was.  She cried when he put her down, laughed at his unfunny jokes, fulfilled his every whim, and begged him not to walk away from her.  She stopped eating and survived on malibu’s with a dash of coke.  His every word was law.

It wasn’t long before she began to look ill, her outside reflecting the destruction within.  She hid behind layers of foundation and blusher, painting on the mask every morning just that little bit thicker than the day before.

Soon she was in so deep it was dangerous.  She quit her job, ditched all her friends.  Nothing mattered but holding onto him.

And then a new toy came along.  Fresh and bright, not old and revamped by make-up and smart clothes.  And he dumped her.  He didn’t even try to be kind.  He just said, why settle for a Ford when you can drive a Ferrari.

It was hard to describe the pain he caused her.  After everything she had done and given up for him, this was how he repaid her.

She doesn’t go to the pub any more.  She doesn’t go anywhere.  She just sits and watches the world go by without her.

How do I know this?  That part’s easy.  She is me.  If only everything was as easy as that question.

If only.