David

David and I lived like we were on a volcano. And no, not the kind that erupts occasionally. The kind that never goes away.

The first disappearance was two years ago. He simply didn't come home from work. He didn't answer his phone. His mother said, "He said he needed some time alone." He didn't say anything to me.

I called the hospitals. I wrote him messages that turned into monologues: "Please let me know you're alive." Silence.

He showed up at the door at three in the morning. Tired, calm. "I wanted to be alone." I was sobbing. He hugged me with mild surprise: "What's wrong? I came back." He didn't apologize. He never apologized.

The second disappearance was more sophisticated. He went to visit a friend in another city. He promised to call every evening. The first evening—a call, a gentle voice, "I love you." The second—a text: "I'm tired, talk tomorrow." The third—silence. I called him myself—he was unavailable. I texted a friend: "He left yesterday, said he came back to you."

He lied to his friend. He lied to me. He simply turned off his phone for two days. Then he wrote: "I was in the forest, wanted to think." I asked: "About what?" "About us. Don't pressure me."

He came back different. Sometimes tender, with flowers, with confessions that sounded like honey. "I'm an idiot. I need you. You're the only one who tolerates me." And I believed him. Because in those moments, he looked at me as if I'd saved his life.

Sometimes it was as if nothing had happened. "What shall we do today?" he'd ask after five days of silence.

Sometimes he was angry. "You're driving me crazy with your hysterics," he'd yell, even though I'd simply asked him not to. "Should I leave again?!" And the silence would be so thick you could cut me. I'd fall silent. He was winning.

We lived in cycles. Seven days of paradise—where we laugh, make love, make plans. Then the sky cracks. One wrong intonation—and he's already cooled off.

I was torn between trying to find some way to bring back the warmth. But the more I tried, the colder it became.

And here we go again. I look at him, and he just shrugs, throwing his backpack on the floor.

Five days. He was gone for five days.

#toxicrelationships
#cold