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Jealousy, Miranda muses, is very much like a virus; finding a host to invade and then attacking, infecting, replicating, and then finally releasing. Over and over and over again. When the virus has firm control of its host, it devastates and destructs. She turns the water on in the shower to its hottest setting, wishing that the sharp sting of heat sliding down her body and down the drain would take this feeling with it. That’s a nice thought, simply washing away ones emotions. She scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“Wishful thinking.” She mumbles.
She has never experienced such overwhelming jealousy in a romantic relationship before. With her previous marriages, there was of course the petty jealousy that the average human will experience while in a relationship, whether they admit to it or not.
But this? No.
The pure rage that will flare up out of nowhere and explode in her chest like a bomb, the almost unbearable anxiety that this relationship with Andrea is being timed by an hourglass while she, unable to move is forced to watch that last grain of sand hit the bottom of the glass and thus rendering her relationship null and void. She has nightmares about that. She’s always restrained in some manner, whether it’s a straitjacket or chained to a chair, but the outcome is always the same; she’s never able to flip the hourglass over to give her more time.
She always gets a headache from the constant nagging of suspicion every time that Andrea goes out for drinks with co-workers after work or goes dancing with her friends on the weekend. When will Andrea meet someone younger? Someone who will be able to give her babies and spontaneity. Someone who she can be in a relationship with that doesn't have the invisible presence of death looming above their heads because she’s 25 years older and will inevitably die long before Andrea does. Or at least she hopes. There is no future that she can envision in which she lives without Andrea by her side.
There’s the possessiveness as well. She’s always been somewhat possessive, that’s no surprise. What is surprising is this primal urge that thrums through her veins, starting at her toes and slithering up and up until these horrible thoughts swirl around her brain. Murder. She wants to kill, to strangle, to make anyone who poses even the slightest threat to her relationship disappear and all it would take is a couple of phone calls and an untraceable transfer of money. It’s incredibly humiliating and shameful because she knows that she would never regret it. She smiles grimly to herself.
Feeling so powerless to something as trivial (or not) as her emotions makes her thrash out at those around her. Her words are crueler, sharper, more biting. Nothing seems to satisfy her anymore. Not even Runway. All because of that irritating voice in the corner of her mind whispering awful things.
Miranda steps out of the shower and dries herself off. Coming to stand in front of the mirror she simply stares at herself, assessing what she sees. She turned fifty-six earlier this year and it most definitely shows. She’s well aware that she has aged more gracefully than most woman her age; her wrinkles are there but barely noticeable, unless you’re really looking for them and her body is still slender and toned from healthy eating and regular exercise. But, the towel drops to the floor, she is still very much a middle-aged woman at the end of the day. Her breasts and her ass are certainly not what they used to be. Gravity is unavoidable. She’ll never admit it but she gets tired more quickly these days. Sometimes it’s even a struggle to become aroused and Andrea will need to use lube to help her achieve orgasm. It’s the little insecurities that stroke the fire that is jealousy and dating a woman 25 years her junior is like blowing on said fire to keep it aflame.
Andrea working later these past couple of months is unquestionably making things worse. Are you sure she’s really working? There’s that irrational rage blooming in her chest again. She clenches her jaw and rips the comforter and sheet down on the bed so that she can slide in. The clock reads 11:43 P.M. She stares at the ceiling as her mind comes to life. Unpleasant scenarios pass by like a slideshow. Men and women who stare at Andrea’s chest, her neck, her ass every time they attend a fundraiser or a gala. Andrea smiling that innocent, charming little grin back. Does she flirt with other people every time she goes out? The thought of Andrea grinding against anyone at a club has her heart pounding so heavily against her chest that she fears one day she’ll give herself a heart attack. Her fists have balled up so tightly that she can feel the skin on her palms struggling to withstand the piercing of her fingernails.
She takes a couple of deep breaths, in and out, forcing herself to relax. Andrea loves you. She chose you. You've been together for 5 years. She would do anything for you. But she can’t help but doubt herself and it makes her so angry, so helpless that she wants to scream and cry, curl up in a ball and sob like she used to do when she a child while overhearing her father yell and accuse and strike her mother.
In and out. In and out. She’s interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs. She looks at the clock again and is somewhat startled. It’s 1:27 A.M. now. The footsteps are nearing the bedroom door and she quickly closes her eyes and feigns sleep. She listens as Andrea opens to door as quietly as she can and walk silently towards to closet to change, then make her way towards the bathroom. She must have drifted off because she wakes to the feel of the bed dipping with Andrea’s weight. She still feigns sleep. She doesn't trust herself right now and knows that whatever would inevitably come out of her mouth would only hurt Andrea. Which is something that she will always try her best to avoid. She can feel Andrea hovering over her and just looking, then she feels soft fingertips brush back that lock of hair that never seems to stay in place behind her ear. She feels the faintest caress on her cheek before a kiss is placed on her forehead. It’s so soft, so loving and sweet that she feels a lump start to form in her throat.
“Sweet dreams.” Andrea whispers in the dark.
She feels her soul calming at those two words. The beast that’s been trying to beat and claw its way out vanishes temporarily. It’s not gone forever; it will come roaring back, there’s no doubt about that. She pulls Andrea’s body closer to her at that thought because this isn't something that’s going to just magically disappear overnight. She needs help. She will not allow anything to come between her and Andrea, including herself. This is the most precious relationship that she has ever had in her life and she will not destroy it like she has with so many other things in the past.
Andrea loves you.
She falls asleep with a small smile gracing her lips.