Devoted Love, Mr. Hayes’ Darling Wife

It was 10:30 pm when Micaela woke up.

Images of last night’s madness leap to mind and even now when I wake up my head is dizzy and my body aches.

The night before seemed like a dream, indistinguishable from the unreal and the real, even the pain and drowsiness coming from her nerve endings seemed fake.

In the large European minimalist bedroom it was cold and clear, no longer warm from the night before, as if a dream had passed without a trace.

But there was a white man’s shirt lying on the blanket next to the bed.

Micaela laughed.

The only explanation is that he’s not ready to face her and how he’s going to live with her in the future.

Micaela didn’t rush to call him, but just wandered around the large villa.

In the closet, there are still her clothes, which have not been thrown away.

In the cupboard, there are still some sets of dishes and cutlery that she bought, which is nice.

In the dresser, the comb that she had used, she had not lost either.

This house left no more details of any woman’s presence than the traces she had left behind.

And next to the projector, there were many video discs with some explicit love action movies.

Micaela couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

It turns out that Nico is also reduced to watching love action movies. It was obvious how a man like him, in the eyes of the world, could be willing to become a puritan for a man who is a monk and still eats meat, let alone a prodigal son like Nico.

But Micaela did not want to laugh at him at all; there was a dull ache in her heart.

The feeling of anguish had never been so strong.

Looking at the empty sofa and the huge projection screen, Micaela could even imagine that for the past two years, Nico had spent more than 700 nights lying or sitting here alone, bored out of his mind, watching DVDs to pass the early mornings.

Micaela is used to being alone, but at this moment she can empathize with Nico’s loneliness.

Next to the sofa, there are many books of a jumbled variety.

There’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, Freud, Shakespeare, and also Humanity Out of Order, as well as yellow/violent Japanese manga.

The variety ranges from the elegant to the vulgar, and it’s really hard to see what kind of taste the person reading the book has to be able to read Freud and Japanese manga at the same time.

Micaela picked up a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I’ve heard it’s hard to read, and with Micaela’s busy schedule these past two years, she’s barely had time to read, let alone read such a raw and difficult book.

The stack of books was interspersed with the numerous letters she had written to him over the past two years.

Micaela picked one up and sat down on the couch to examine it, noting that in one of them Nico had replied at the bottom of the letterhead.

She said.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“It’s barren, not an inch of grass.

And then you came here for a walk.

The miraculous growth of all things.

Here is my heart.”

His reply was.

“Here is my heart, where everything grows.

And then you came here for a walk.

It is barren, and not an inch of grass grows.

There’s only room for you.”

Micaela looked at those letterheads as if she had discovered a new world, searching for other answers.

But the more I searched, the more my eyes watered.

For a primary-colored paper diary with a fountain pen clipped inside had appeared.

It’s like a diary written by Nico on the couch late at night when he was bored watching a movie.

The script is scribbled and spontaneous, without a hint of restraint, a complete record of his feelings in the moment, without any dissimulation, just like the sense of freedom it conveys.

Each of them is of few words, no unnecessary nonsense, but the emotions are hard to hide.

“It feels like waiting for a spaceship at an airport with no end in sight, but I, for one, keep waiting. It’s very unproductive.”

“I really want to take a break and I don’t want to miss anyone for a while.”

“I really can’t fuck like everyone else? Wicked.”

“It’s ridiculous that I, Nico, will one day be demoted from sea king to ass licker, so many times before, the break was irrelevant, what the hell is the point this time, people are gone and I’m still here thinking about her sending me goodnight tonight. I’m so angry.”

“Obsession and deep love are not positive words. If it’s in the wrong direction, it’s just fetishism. What a cruel thing to say to my psychiatrist, who doesn’t know how to take care of my weak heart. How can it not be considered fetishism if I’m holding back to go to L. A. and send her a message?”

“My therapist has also told me that this man doesn’t love me and that I should give up before it’s too late. But I don’t believe it.”

“I said he sent me so many good nights and wrote me so many love letters, isn’t that still clinging to me? The psychiatrist said he’s using you as a spare, sending good nights and writing a love letter that costs nothing, and he really wanted you to fly to see you a long time ago.”

“It’s cruel to face a miserable life.”

“Micaela, aren’t you coming back and, unsurprisingly, we’re not going to see each other anymore?”

“Unhappy eating a bar of soap, drinking a sip of water, jumping and blowing a big bubble. If I keep waiting like this, I’m going to get fucking depressed.”

“It’s tiring enough not to love even if you can’t.”

“Micaela, I’m leaving you, I’m starting a new life.”

…

Micaela goes through each of the writing journals, not wanting to miss a single sentence or a single punctuation mark.

Tears, big, shattered tears in the original wooden journal, dense calligraphy.

Micaela sniffled and tried to keep her composure as she continued flipping through.

She didn’t write again for a long time after she said she had decided to give it up and start a new life.

As of recently, he is writing again.

“I realized that touching the earth is not degrading at all, mindlessly waiting for someone is the real degradation. I became the kind of person I could see the least, sober and disappointed, but still holding my illusions.”

“Who would believe me if I couldn’t look at myself after being entangled with a woman for so long.”

“Micaela, are you really not coming back? Yes, you’re in America being a Disney princess, so why bother with me?”

“Maybe Mateo is right, Micaela is heartless, don’t ask me to see her again, if I see her I will absolutely abuse her.”

“This year, ironically, she’s not coming back.”

“Trying to cut down her tree, so she won’t know anyway.”

“I’m scared, I can’t wait for the day she loves me.”

…

Micaela finished the last entry and slammed the journal shut, clutching it and sobbing uncontrollably.

Nico’s tone in writing these rehearsal journals is calm, without ups and downs, but calm enough to make Micaela’s heart ache.

The anguish was like an unbearable pain that had invaded every internal organ.

Stupid. How could anyone be so stupid?

If it was so sad and hard to wait for her, then don’t wait for her, just wait for her to come to him to chase him, why be such a fool.

Micaela clutched her diary and sat on the carpet for a long time choking before slowly calming down.

She was in her study, waiting for Nico all day.

Nico didn’t show up.

Micaela was in no hurry and quietly left the villa.

Six years, how many six years there are in a person’s life.

Micaela realized abruptly that they had always been together less than a year in those six years, and that when they were together, it was probably less than a year, and each time they were unpleasant.

Still, Nico loved her and hoped for her.

There’s a saying that if you’re with someone because you’re happy, you like them, but if you’re unhappy with that person but still want to be with them, that’s generally love.