Work Text:
Only once Rimon is asleep does Hadar take the opportunity to slip out of bed. Even she is not quite certain why she bothers to wait–they both know she will be gone come morning–but some misplaced sense of courtesy compels her, nonetheless. At her back, Rimon feels warm, but the truth is this, the chill of the breeze against her back and the cold tile of the floor beneath her feet.
They loved each other, once. There was a time when she could not imagine ever wanting to leave, made excuses and nearly missed appointments to stay just a few minutes longer in those arms. Afternoons felt like eternities, and still all the hours they spent together was not time enough.
She has always been hungry. It followed her from her orphanhood, the time she spent begging on the street. All she had was longing, once, and the memory of that–starving for food, for warmth, for affection, for the power to change her life and its circumstances–it dogs at her, propels her ever forwards.
For a few years, that hunger, nigh insatiable, threatened to derail her, was redirected from her ambitions and onto Rimon. Or–almost.
Hadar never quite manages to forget herself, even when she tries. Even in those days, when Rimon was her world, she still never could set aside her ambitions, not entirely, could not feel peace, with their city as it was; she justified it, then, as wanting to create a better future for she and her wife to live in, but it was a lie, she knows that now.
She could never abandon her ambitions, not for anyone. Not for Rimon, not for her marriage, not for herself. Briefly, she considered it, briefly, she even told herself she tried, but it left her restless, and angry, would have destroyed their relationship, trying to be the wife Rimon wants; she could never be happy as anyone but the woman she is, with any desires but the ones that she has.
And, anyway–Rimon has not been the wife Hadar wanted, either, is certainly not the one she expected.
When they met, Rimon was meek, compliant, willing to do all that Hadar asked of her, awed by Hadar’s money, her status, her confidence. It was not a relationship of equals–they both knew that. For a time, it even made them happy. Rimon wanted a protector, a leader, a mentor, not a partner , and Hadar wanted someone who would never dare to ask the wrong sorts of questions, or to try to redirect her, to stop her from doing the work that she did. She wanted someone to support her, to care for her at home, a wife, like men have, because she knew she had not hours enough in the day to run a house and a business, not if she wanted to accomplish anything else.
They both knew what it was, their arrangement, both agreed to it. She led, Rimon followed.
But–it felt wrong, after a time.
Diffident and retiring as Rimon had seemed, in those early years, it became increasingly clear to Hadar that this was not her true character, was only a result of the circumstances in which she had found herself, the way she had been raised. To have encouraged her to remain that way, to have continued to take advantage of it, would have been wrong, Hadar knew it even then.
Instead, she encouraged her wife, convinced her to work outside of the home, at a job all her own, taught her to stand up for herself better, to speak her mind. It seemed like a good idea, then–was the right thing to do–but it altered things between them irrevocably.
For a time, Rimon was thankful, thought it a kindness, what Hadar had done in helping her to grow into herself. Perhaps it was, but there was selfishness, too; it had grown boring, rather quickly, to be in a relationship with someone who was, ultimately, utterly unable to advocate for herself, was not intellectually engaging to speak with Rimon in any way, was not challenging. As much as Hadar liked her, was drawn to her strong sense of morality and innate goodness, her firm belief that the world they live in can be better, talking to Rimon was something of a chore, at times, and Hadar thought–well, she hoped that they could be equals, someday. She wanted to really be a wife, a partner, and not a mentor, a caretaker.
Or, she thought that she wanted that.
Even still, the Rimon she imagined was not really her equal, fell into line instead with all of her planning, her ambition, was an equal partner in achieving her goals, certainly, but had no aspirations of her own.
Foolish.
Rimon is, she knows now, too much like her.
Initially, she sought to bring Rimon in, to gradually expose her to the scope and depth of her machinations, to use the skills she saw her wife developing in other arenas–her ability to command others, her impeccable organization, her tenacity–in order to further her own goals, and for a time, it worked. But then, Rimon began to show a certain sangfroid in her own work, and to value the sense of self-assurance she cultivated in doing said work, focused more on climbing the ranks there than on Hadar’s own goals.
It felt, then, like an affront, a rejection, a rebuke. Everything she had, everything she was, that was all Hadar’s work, too, so for her to turn her back on that? To say that her job was equally as important?
It was not, it is not.
Naturally, Rimon took offense to Hadar saying as much. Why would she not? Here was the woman who taught her to dream, telling her now that all her ambition was empty, was lesser. It must have stung. Even as she said it, Hadar regretted it, wished she had kept her mouth shut, but she could not bring herself to retract the statement, still believed it to be true..
Although Rimon does not know it, thinks Hadar’s work is her shop, her true business will reshape history, this Hadar knows. No work as municipal administrator comes close to that. And–worse–when Hadar is done, she hopes that the entire structure of the city will be remade. That will mean that most officials will no longer be working, will mean that Rimon’s job will go to someone else.
Still, she thinks her path right, thinks it more important she press on than focus on Rimon’s happiness.
So she does not back down. She does not apologize. She feels as her wife’s resentment grows, as Rimon becomes ever more certain that Hadar propped her up to use her further, in some way, and regrets the way Rimon has escaped her, become someone wholly her own.
Rimon is not entirely wrong.
But there is nothing Hadar can do to change that now, nor would she. In Rimon, she has made herself an equal, and a rival. They are at cross-purposes, although Rimon has not an inkling of that fact, not yet, and so what would be the sense, in trying to smooth things over? Why would she apologize, only to say to Rimon that she still wants her to subsume her ambitions, to cleave instead to Hadar’s own goals, setting aside all that she has worked for? What good will it do?
Instead, she twists the knife. It will make things easier, in the end. If Rimon hates her, she will be able to understand the betrayal, such as it is, will think Hadar petty, and stubborn, and spiteful, will not see the more painful truth: she has become a woman Hadar loves more than she ever imagined she could, and still, Hadar has chosen her own ambitions over that love.
In everything, Hadar succeeds.
They stay married, and they fight. On good days, they avoid one another, time their coming and going to not overlap. On bad days, they yell at one another, say all the nasty things that they can, the one’s they think will hurt. On the worst of days, their disagreements are quiet things, admissions that cut more deeply than any insult could– I thought you were someone else and I loved you, once and I can never be the woman you want, not anymore.
And then, once every few months, they find themselves like this, Hadar in Rimon’s bed again. They are not in love, not anymore, even if they love one another. It is a fraught thing, all hurts magnified by the betrayal that a person one cares about so deeply cannot understand one at all, can love them but not want to be with or around them.
Rimon thinks Hadar wants something else from her, wants a wilting, moldable thing, and Hadar is increasingly wounded by the things Rimon says about her–particularly the parts that are true. Resentment has built up between them, and stands there still and then–then they find themselves like this, again. Hadar in Rimon’s bed, leaving under cover of darkness.
Maybe, this was inevitable; Rimon is too stubborn to cheat, and Hadar is too prideful. Maybe it is the natural conclusion of two people who still love one another residing under the same roof. Maybe it is that they are the only two people on the planet who understand their loneliness. Regardless,, they still have sex, and when they do, it is like a window into the past.
Rimon, so eager to please, so pretty and malleable in Hadar’s smaller hands. Hadar feeling that she is fully in control of the pace of things, of their destinies, knowing how this will go, how this ends, knowing she can choose when and how Rimon will be satisfied.
But then–it is Rimon’s voice that spurs her on, her sweet words, her gentle encouragement. She is begging, certainly, but Hadar gives to her all that she asks.
Maybe she never really was the one in control. She feels it even more keenly when they are done, and abruptly, Rimon rolls over, her back to Hadar, does not say I love you or Thank you or Would you like me to…? and leaves Hadar to make her way out, to the office Hadar moved into more than a year ago.
Hadar tells herself: This has to end.