The Loveless Couch

They sat beside each other on the couch in the counselor's office a strategic distance apart, careful not to touch each other, of course. She wondered momentarily if the love seat in her therapist’s office was some kind of cruel joke, a too-tight space pushing couples together like a pair of thistles poking each other uncomfortably. She’d decided that it was a couch of mockery, where tattered love goes into the ring to fight for its existence. She would, from now on, refer to it as “the loveless couch.”

It began as it always did: awkward and tense. She could feel all of her emotions bubbling to the base of her throat. Traitors. She never wanted to spill over like an overfilled tub, pouring out her insides until she felt like an empty shell. Inward thoughts now on the outside, telling all her fears and sadness. Not that her honesty had done her much good. He still sat across from her emotionless - as flat as a mountain lake on a breathless day. The difference of glacier water being pure and clear, yet his waters were always too dark to see through. She’d tried in vain to peer in throughout the years, but a stone is a stone and dark places only permit light when it’s allowed to shine.

She wiggled in her seat uncomfortably. “Do you mind if we remove our masks?” His voice was faint in the background of her thoughts. She dawned a polite smile and answered, “Absolutely not,” she could barely breathe as it was. She looked at him for approval, even though she’d already answered. She could see by his expression that she’d made a mistake. Again. She couldn’t stop making them, apparently. Being here was a mistake. Period. She never said the right things; she always had the wrong tone, the wrong intention, she was wrong. Everything about her was wrong.

She’d gained too much weight after she had their baby, she’d gotten too fat, she’d become unstable, unlovable, and undesirable. She was a disgrace in their marriage. She was a disgrace to their love. She had no idea, though, how long he’d resented her for. Long before babies and jobs and life. She imagined that he held out hope that she’d eventually fix the things that were wrong with her so that they could live a happy life together. She was unaware of the invisible bar that was set for her, and she was most certainly not reaching his expectations.

The first time they sat down and shared their feelings - she spilled open like a broken bean bag chair, spewing forth her insides. She laid herself bare, waiting for him to give her a look at the inside of him. When it was his turn to speak, he looked at her blankly for a time, stood up, and walked away. She’d felt instantly as though she was a duckling crossing a busy highway, about to make it to the other side, only to be struck by an oncoming car. He had nothing to say to her. She didn’t understand him, and perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were ships in the night, both sailing the same sea but never able to see one another.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft voice of their counselor. “Would you like to share today?”

“Um.” Her mouth seemed more dry than normal suddenly. Somehow, this session felt like a loaded gun. ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’ She said what she felt, as she always did; a trail of smoke lingered on her lips. She licked them nervously as she glanced at his pursed face. She could tell by his tense expression that she was wrong again. What she felt was not allowed. She never got it right. She was a monster. How could she not see that? It was so clear to him that she needed help. She began to think that maybe she did. If she was able to single-handedly sabotage their entire relationship, maybe she was a monster. She imagined herself Godzilla and their marriage the city of Tokyo. Gruesome bitch. If only she could control her emotions to the state of a Stepford wife, she was sure they could make it work.

She often wondered if he could see himself through the looking glass. Which made her try to see herself more clearly. Why was she so irritating and abrasive? Why couldn’t she just - shut up?

She never felt like she was enough growing up. She was the peacemaker in her parent's tumultuous love.

“Go tell your mother...”

Confrontation became a dog whistle for her to spring into action - comply, smooth, fix. Be a good girl.

She was pretty but not quite thin enough. Smart, but lacked the focus to really shine. She had a beautiful singing voice, but not quite loud enough- her father once asked her mother to “turn that song up on the radio.”

“I can’t,” she replied, “that’s your daughter.”

While those things about her may have been true, she always felt that her self-criticisms were a hole in her sail of life. Preventing her from really going to the places she really wanted.

Maybe that’s why this hurt so much. She’d always hoped that he saw her, like really saw and loved her despite her shortcomings. She felt safe in believing that she had him behind her. It wasn’t until late that he’d told her that living with her was a struggle. Not for these past months when she’d felt alone and sad, but for the entirety of their relationship. She was a sarcastic bitch, scratching the enamel off his life. Hearing that was like watching him rip her beating heart right from her chest and cavalierly remarking- “you, my dear are irreparable.” To his credit, she certainly did feel that way - a broken record, skipping annoying and repeatedly over her inadequacies.

The irony of it all was that she had only wanted him to see her. To want to be with her. The more she pulled to bring him closer, the further away he had become. She didn’t need to be put first 100 percent of the time, but she did need to know that he heard her. Each time he put himself first, the more predictive that choice became, she would dawn another piece of armor.

“I’m so tired today,” she would say.

“Yes, me too,” was always his reply

“I’m not really feeling well.” She’d say.

“Yeah, I haven’t been feeling good myself.” Was always his retort.

“How was your day?” She would ask.

“Horrible, get me out of there.” He would reply, sliding into the passenger seat, immediately turning his attention to his phone.

Over and over and over again.

She felt like a ghost. A contestant In an unwinnable competition she had never signed up for. When would he just hold her, and be happy?

The couch squeaked beneath her as she wriggled at the thought. She looked over at him on his side, a tight ball of emotion, and she felt their sadness creep up between them, like an unwanted friend filling the space where she thought love once lived. Their gloves were now bloodied with truth and hurt. The feelings rose and fell against the soft fabric.

‘Ding!’ The sound of the timer echoed in the now very quiet room, signaling that their time was up on the loveless couch.