I was always a precocious teenager. I blossomed early in life and quickly learnt how to use it, much to my mother’s chagrin. I was the only child of a single parent who worked late shifts to make ends meet. I always dated older guys and if my mother warned me against it, I would simply dump him and date someone older and more dangerous.
I was 18 when I met the love of my life, Ari. He was everything I, as a troubled 18 year old, wasn’t and instead of running a mile, I actually wanted to settle down with him. He was mature, level headed and broodingly attractive — and he cooked a mean lasagne to boot. He was like the antithesis of every guy I had ever dated and I fell hook, line and sinker.
Unfortunately, when he met my mother, so did he.
We dated for a year until he broke it to me that I was the wrong woman for him — he wanted to upgrade to the older model. I moved out of home soon after he broke up with me to pursue my mother and, in my childish rage, I blamed her entirely. She never let anything happen with him and he eventually stopped pursuing her, but the pain took far longer to fade for me.
Five years passed and one hot summer’s day I went home for my mother’s fiftieth birthday party. I thought I’d gotten over the whole Ari situation, but seeing my mum’s face brought the pain flooding back. As I stood in the kitchen trying to block out memories of Ari looking at my mum with puppy dog eyes all those years ago, a distinguished looking man stepped into my line of sight and extended his hand. He was my mother’s new boyfriend and, unknown to me, soon to be fiancé. Justin was younger than her by a good 10 years and like I had with Ari five years earlier, I fell for him.
We started off seeing each other in secret. He promised he would end things with my mother when the time was right, but as the months passed it became clear the time was never going to be right.
My mother caught us in a passionate embrace on a night that will forever be burnt into my memory. I saw the hurt flash in her eyes, before I turned and ran from the room. After dinner one night at Justin’s bachelor pad, the two of us had been playing dress-ups for fun and over my usually platinum locks was a long black wig. Heavy kohl lined my eyes and my lips were painted deep red. I was almost unrecognisable, which is how I got away with it. We didn’t hear the key turn in the lock, but I heard her stifled gasp as she stood in the doorway. I didn’t give her time to get any closer, I ran out through the laundry door, hearing her shrieks as I disappeared into the night.
Looking back, I realise I only got involved with Justin to soothe my wounded pride, wounded pride that I blamed my entirely innocent mother for. And because of my actions I ruined her one true chance at love. She loved Justin deeply, in a way she hadn’t done since my father left her and in a way she may never do again. And I have only myself to blame.
Picture posed by model.
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