The Man She No Longer Knew

She had watched it only once.

Once was enough.

The security camera in the kitchen had no sympathy. It recorded everything with the cold honesty of a machine. There he was, framed beneath the familiar light fitting, wrapped around another woman as though the kitchen belonged to them instead.

She almost wished she had never installed the cameras.

Almost.

"I never touched her," he said.

Libertine looked at him quietly.

"No?"

"No. You're imagining it."

She let the silence settle between them.

"You've become very creative lately."

"I swear."

She laughed then. Not because anything was amusing, but because sometimes laughter was the only thing preventing tears.

"You forgot something."

"What?"

"The cameras."

His face drained of colour.

"Oh my God..."

"Yes," she said softly. "Oh my God."

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Then he whispered, "Please..."

"I'm leaving."

"But... it's your house."

She picked up her coat.

"Exactly. So kindly remove yourself before I return."

His confidence cracked like thin ice.

"You can't leave me."

"I already have."

"I can't live without you."

She paused at the doorway.

"Yes," she replied. "Clearly you can."

He reached for her arm.

"Please."

She turned slowly and looked at him, really looked at him, as though he were a stranger asking for directions.

"Who are you?"

He stared.

"I don't know you."

"Libertine..."

"You're very handsome. I understand why women fall at your feet."

Her voice remained calm.

"But I don't recognise the man standing in front of me."

The words landed harder than any punch.

Outside, somewhere beyond the garden, a train announced its arrival with a mournful whistle.

She smiled faintly.

"When the train comes around again," she said, "I'm getting on it."

He began to panic.

"Don't leave."

She opened the front door.

"I'll kill myself!"

She didn't even turn around.

"Too late."

The train screamed along the tracks in the distance.

He grabbed the heavy rusted chain hanging beside the old gate and wrapped it dramatically around his neck.

"Look!" he shouted. "I'm strangling myself! Listen to me! My heart! Can't you hear me?"

Libertine sighed.

"No."

She walked a little farther.

"Please! I love you!"

She stopped.

For a heartbeat he thought she was coming back.

She looked over her shoulder.

"Who are you?"

The question was genuine.

Not cruel.

Not theatrical.

Simply true.

Because the man she had loved no longer existed.

Perhaps he never had.

She watched him standing there, clutching the chain, waiting for forgiveness or applause that would never come.

Men, she thought, can be extraordinary performers when the audience is leaving.

The train slowed beside the platform.

Its doors sighed open.

She stepped aboard.

Then, almost against her own better judgement, she stepped back down again.

He looked at her with desperate hope.

Without a word she walked over, removed the heavy rusted chain from around his neck, and let it fall onto the gravel with a dull clang.

"Stop embarrassing yourself."

He reached for her hand.

"So... you'll stay?"

"For now."

She studied his face as though searching for something...

"But believe me..."

She shook her head.

"I still don't know who you are."

"You are my girlfriend."

"Really?"

A tired smile crossed her face.

"Well, ain't that something."

She walked past him into the house.

Behind her, he stood in silence.

Libertine glanced once towards the kitchen, where the little camera still blinked its tiny red light.

Machines never lied. Well not unless they were programmed to, or edited, manipulated. 

People almost always did. Lie.

As she closed the door she murmured to herself, with all the weary wisdom of someone who had lived through too many disappointments,

"Men..."

She smiled without warmth.

"They can never seem to drink from one well for the whole of their ridiculous lives."