(Disclaimer: Some names have been changed to protect their privacy. Some information may be disturbing for some readers. Read at your discretion. 18+)
When I walked into Rosie’s apartment after he had locked me out, I didn’t want to show him that I was in pain. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of achieving his goal when locking me out, knowing I would likely seize up.
As I took off my jacket and winter boots, both Jean, and Alyssa came out of their bedroom. They were wearing their pajamas. They both walked towards me. One of them said, “Dad locked you out”, at the same time I was stuffing my winter coat in the closet. I responded with, “I know. Where were you guys?” Both kids responded in unison, “McDonald’s.” Then Jean said “I told Dad you didn’t have keys to get in. We even ate fast because we figured you were probably cold. Dad said we weren’t in a hurry. I’m sorry”.
Jean had witnessed me in pain from cramps on a few occasions by that point. He was with Rosie when I had to be rescued outside once or twice. I can imagine that was not easy for him, and only added to his traumatized life thus far. Jean helped to calm me down without realizing it, with his thoughtful empathy. In my mind I thought, “what a thoughtful boy for wanting to return home quickly. I think he’s genuinely concerned about me.” I responded with “I see. It’s not your fault sweetheart. Dad and I are having a disagreement, that’s all.”
Rosie was standing in the kitchen doing something or other , within earshot, when the kids came out to speak with me. From there, I went into the bedroom, grabbed pajama pants, a t-shirt, a new pair of undies, and went to the bathroom. I asked if anyone needed to use it. They all said no, so I closed the door and took a nice long hot bath with candles, and some Imagine Dragons on YouTube playing in my ear.
Whilst I was in the tub the kids went to bed. Rosie came in a few minutes after he tucked them in to talk I guess. When he opened the door, I didn’t give him time to speak. I told him I would be leaving. If my memory serves me correctly, that evening was a Tuesday.
Liv had made arrangements for me to be picked up by her step-father, Bill, on Friday that same week. I didn’t know exactly at that time that Bill had to push the date to the Sunday. Rosie acknowledged my statement then turned, muttered something, and then closed the door. Later that evening Rosie stayed in his room. I slept on a God awful futon, beside a puppy who was training within a confined space with pee pads.
The dog’s name was Duke II. Rosie bought that dog for the kids after I moved in, in 2021. For the same reason he wanted to get Duke I. Forgetting his busy lifestyle, or just like previous, took it for granted that I would do all the work. It ended up being both possibilities.
Duke I, was two months old when I came to help out in 2020. Rosie wanted to surprise his son because his sister had a puppy with her at her mom’s. I didn’t even really like that dog much. I bought him off of a co-worker at an elementary school I had been working for at the time. I brought him with me on the long drive to Montreal from Fredericton. During the brutally cold Canadian winter. It was a good healthy nine hour drive or so. Depending on traffic, and the condition of my legs. I had to stop a few times to rub my shin and calf to get cramp out. Good times. Rosie didn’t pay a cent for that dog. I paid for him and his vaccines. Rosie didn’t pay me back either. Even though he was the one who wanted the dog and said he would give me some money. My goodness I was a whipped people pleaser back then.
Rosie got rid of Duke I, after I left before the end of Rosie’s training on the base in Gagetown, New Brunswick, which was scheduled to end in April that same year. Rosie thought it was a good thing for his kids to have a dog. I secretly knew he wanted the dog so that his ex wouldn’t be able to manipulate his daughter by pulling at her heart strings over the puppy at her mother’s house.
Gemma would give messages to Alyssa such as, “Alyssa, stay here with me. I have Lucy. She misses you when you are not here.” Gemma mastered the art of manipulation. I also wondered if Duke was a way to create a form of competition as well. Both Rosie, and his ex, were highly competitive.
Whilst Rosie and Gemma were competing over the elusive parent of the year trophy, along with Rosie competing for the world record for the most affairs one person can have in a month, I had to do all the training and care for Duke. I was the one who walked him every two hours so he could do his business outside, including through the night. I trained Duke to walk beside me rather than pull. I had also been working with him to not bark when he could hear people in the stairwell.
When I asked Rosie what had happened to Duke shortly after moving in, in July, 2023, he said he gave Duke to a family who had more time to take care of him. Makes sense really. The kids hardly paid attention to any of the three dogs we ended up housing during my stay with Rosie. Rosie was also too busy making new friends of his own on his shady side of life. He didn’t have time for a furry friend.
The following few days were pretty much the same. During the day Rosie was out and about, either at one of his several appointments, or on base, or God knows where. At night he slept cozy in his bed whilst I was left to sleep on a futon, beside a dog. Basically, I was in the doghouse. Rosie secretly relished in the fact that he put me in the proverbial doghouse.
During the day, and as per usual, I was left to my own devices. Jean and Alyssa were at school. I had the place to myself. My mind kept racing about all sorts of experiences with Rosie. On the third afternoon, after my expected three days of contemplative silence, and before leaving, Rosie was looking at the vision board I made with the kids. It was on the wall almost directly across from the front entrance, and right beside a window. On that vision board was a wedding ring. I tore it off when I was home alone.
I was home, I would say, about eighty-five percent of the time throughout the entire time Rosie and I shared our journey together. I didn’t realize at the time that I was a single woman inside of a relationship. Spirit may have been showing me. I wasn’t picking up what they were laying down. Lesson learned today.
Rosie noticed the picture of the ring missing. He gestured towards it and looked at me. I said “What?”. I knew what he was getting at. I just didn’t want to entertain his mind games. My mind was already fragile at that point. He replied with “it’s gone”. As in the little magazine picture of the gold band was missing. I said, in a matter of fact way, “I took it off. I have no interest in getting married to anyone anytime soon.” He walked away and shrugged. There really wasn’t much he could say. I found it appalling that he would have the nerve to talk about a wishful thinking picture about a never to be wedding, right after we fought about his infidelity. That’s messed up.
That conversation triggered another memory locked within me. I dreamt of going away to a tropical paradise for a honeymoon. I didn’t go on a real honeymoon with either of my two ex husbands. I would fantasize being on a white sandy beach with a pina calada in hand, and my gorgeous, loving, intelligent, quick witted, specimen of a husband beside me. The trigger was the picture of a palm tree in the collage. It brought me back to when I found out about Rosie paying and planning a seven day all-inclusive getaway to Mexico with Gemma, his supposed ex and baby mama. He went on this pre-honeymoon trip with Gemma whilst I was fighting thoughts of suicide and planning my escape from this world.
It was Rosie’s birthday, September, 2017. It was the day after the night of drunken terror. Rosie booked a room in a motel on the top of the hill in Fredericton. Finally, a different motel than that sleezy one on the side of the highway. It was nice. Nothing too fancy. What I liked about it was the room. It was cleaner with a king sized bed, a table, mini fridge, and some other typical items you would find in a three star motel. I brought a small bag with me. Not a plastic grocery store bag like the last time. It was one of my own purses that was big enough to hold a fresh change of clothes and some toiletries. Call me Mary Poppins.
I wasn’t expecting to have sex with him. I started a period. Not that that mattered most of the time. We had doggie style anal sex more often than anything else. Which was probably his inspiration for whistling at me like a dog during his drunken, road rage, stupor. Rosie introduced me to anal sex. I told him that he was the only one I felt comfortable enough with behind me like that. I told him briefly about the necklace man when I was nine years old. I was telling him the truth.
At first sex wasn’t so great with Rosie, or any man for that matter, if I was brutally honest. I could fake it till you make it just like anyone can. Today, I prefer anal over vaginal because it usually hurts when a penis is inside my vagina, and my vagina also looks weird. It’s a rather difficult sexual trauma to move through.
Rosie got out the vodka and lemonade and made us both a drink within about ten minutes of arriving at the motel. Anytime we shared a room at a little hideaway somewhere, we always had a drink in hand. Looking back, I wonder if he saw me as the closing girl when the bar announced the last call for drinks? I know my subconscious certainly received that message that way. I didn’t realize that then. I do recognize it now. It fed the little girl looking in the mirror. Critiquing all her ugly stretch marks, the arrival of glistening silvers in her hair, as well as the bags under her eyes. Today I admire the beautiful woman I see in the mirror. I am truly my own best friend.
Rosie and I played dominos on the little circular table the hotel provided in the room. We played that game often together when we weren’t having sex or needing to put out fires. He was more competitive than I was. He also made me keep score most times. I secretly kept a thick pad of all our scores over the years. It was in my memory chest for the longest time. I didn’t throw them away right away. I kept that notepad, along with Rosie junior, a bear he love bombed me with, until after I left him in 2023. He had no idea that I kept the scores all that time. I can be a wee bit over the top sentimental at times. I’m proud of it.
Whilst we were playing dominos we were quickly getting drunk. I was becoming more relaxed and his sexy ass was becoming more appealing. We ultimately had sex. Laying there in bed afterwards, I had a thought that was playing in the back of my mind. I wasn’t talking about it because I didn’t want to accuse, nor speak out of turn by bringing up the topic. The night before was brutal enough. I was concerned of what his response would be.
If I was brutally honest, I knew what Rosie response was going to be. I wasn’t ready to feel more pain just yet. I wanted to have a fun, leave the drama outside, kind of night. It was also his birthday. I didn’t want to piss him off. I wanted him to have a nice night. As per usual, I was putting myself last. My need to know outweighed his comfort on that particular night though. I decided to ask him.
When we were separated, and before I met Joel in person, a picture of Rosie and Gemma was circulating on the internet. I don’t really remember how it came across my screen. Nonetheless, it did. The Universe was at play it seems. I asked him about that picture and showed it to him on my phone. His light-heartedness changed to soft seriousness rather quickly. I think he was a bit stunned when I showed him the picture and asked, “when and where was this taken?”. It was a picture of him with his arm around Gemma’s waist. Standing under a palm tree. With a snazzy beach shirt, long black shorts, and sandals. Gemma was wearing a bathing suit with a mesh skirt around her waist, and no shoes. They were standing on a white sandy beach staring into the camera, smiling.
I was sitting beside him on the hotel bed when I asked him that question. He was laying down. He sat up, pulled me on top of him to straddle him like you would a horse, looked me in the eyes and said, “I have something to tell you”. The first thought in my head was, he went away with Gemma whilst I was alone reeling over him breaking up with me at the highway motel.
My intuition tells me today that the trip was already booked when we slept together the night before the walk of shame. I suspect he was scheduled to leave shortly after the upcoming coming weekend of that night as well. Makes sense as to the timing of the car speaker incident when I professed my psychological pain. My intuition is bloody strong let me tell ya.
“Gemma and I went away when we weren’t talking over the past few weeks”, he explained trepedaciously. “Are you fucking serious! Where did you go?” was all I could think to ask next. “To Mexico” was his reply. “When did you go? How long did you go for?” I prodded him for details. His response was “you don’t need to know the details other than we didn’t get along most of the time. You’re only hurting yourself by asking questions when you know the answers would hurt you”.
I lost it. “You mean to tell me you berated me about being with Joel and here you are on a romantic getaway with her. I’m going to be sick”. I quickly got my underwear only wearing ass off of him, grabbed my clothes and headed straight for the bathroom. Whilst I was in the bathroom Rosie fell silent. This was of course after he pleaded with me by insisting the holiday wasn’t a romantic one.
According to Rosie, Gemma needed a break from the kids. She pressured him into going. Supposedly he had a horrible time with her. She was miserable and they fought most of the time there. Like I was going to believe all that after all the other shit that he pulled. That guy could lie to the Virgin Mary if he felt he had to. Just so he could hide his true nature from his highly fought for reputation. He was a God fearing man too, supposedly.
Whilst I was in the bathroom something else came to my horror. While we were having sex the tampon I was using lodged so deep within me I couldn’t grab the string to pull it out. I would normally press the string against me during the humpty dumpty. With that said, I was drunk, so who knows in that moment. I needed help and Rosie was the only one who could do it. I called him into the bathroom hysterical. “Rosie, I need your help!”.
Rosie thought I was having another attack. When he came into the bathroom I was seated on the toilet with my panties down to my ankles. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it out”. “What’s stuck?”, he asked. “My tampon. You must have knocked it up there. Get it out! Please! I can get septic shock from one of these things”. Rosie got down on his knees between my legs and respectfully got it out, whilst I sat on the toilet, completely humiliated. He didn’t make me feel embarrassed whilst he was softly asking me to calm down and talk things through with him.
I think Rosie wanted to stay calm so that I wouldn’t stay angry with him. I on the other hand couldn’t of felt any smaller than I did in that moment. After that ordeal, I got myself dressed, grabbed my bag, then went out the door. I didn’t say a word to Rosie whilst he was standing there only in his boxers and tank top. I had already retreated within myself at that point. I was in no shape to have a one-sided, respectable, and empathetic conversation. In other words, my empathetic scared little ego didn’t feel like talking to him.
Rosie unfortunately struggled terribly with empathy. It was one of our biggest long standing disagreements between him and I over the years. My empathy and his lack of it. There was no way I was staying with him a minute longer.
Rosie came running after me. “Don’t go! Let me explain!”. Hell no was all I was thinking. I ignored him and kept speed walking as fast as my crippled, drunken, long legs, would let me. He moved faster. After a few more times of him yelling “stop!”, I swiftly turned around, extended my hand straight out and yelled “leave me the fuck alone!”. By then I was at a set of traffic lights. They were in my favor. I walked across the busy four lane street. Rosie turned around and went back inside the motel.
I had every intention of walking the several blocks back to my tiny little apartment with Liv. I was cold, embarrassed, distraught, and once again fighting leg cramp, when Rosie appeared beside me driving on the road. He wound down his window and started pleading with me to stop and get in. I wasn’t having it. Then the cramp got worse. I crossed to the other side of the street at the next intersection to get away from Rosie. Rosie made a quick turn, drove back up the hill on the same side as me, and pulled into the parking lot I had decided to cut through. He parked his car, got out, and gently said, “Clair, please talk to me. It’s not what you think. I can’t make it work with her. You know what she is like. You have it all wrong. At least come back to the hotel so that you can get warm. You could always leave first thing in the morning.”
Rosie would have said anything to calm me down and take me back to the hotel. I didn’t believe him. He still stands by these lies about his romantic getaway to this day. My intuition knows otherwise. I wasn’t thinking too deeply about his lies at that time though. All I knew in that moment was I was drunk, cold, it was once again well past midnight, and I was cramping. Again, reluctantly, I went back to the two-story, elongated hotel with him. I didn’t say two words to him the rest of the night. The next morning I got up, brushed my teeth, put my long blond hair up in a messy ponytail and promptly left. This time Rosie did ask me if I wanted a ride home. I said no and then proceeded to the bus stop. I didn’t see him nor speak with him for three days after that. I have a ritual of taking three days of silence to process difficult experiences in my mind. It has always been a solo mission for me, and my way to stay connected to the divine. I honor that process to this day.
Fast-forward to 2023. I was sitting there in his office chair thinking about that painful night six years earlier. Thinking about that day when I learned about his romantic holiday. It still upset me like it happened the day before. I was so damagingly in love with Rosie. The emotional pain and mental turmoil I held inside for most of my years with him was unbearable, and yet, I kept going back to him.
On the night of the illuminated tropical getaway, I thought, “Not this time! I won’t have anything to do with him ever again!”. I was wrong. I didn’t realize back then how much trauma and pain I was holding from all the years with abusive men, as well as the subconscious conditioning I had received from my parents through witnessing their toxic relationship. I had little awareness when it came to love from another human being.
Rosie was no different to any of them who stole my innocence. I just didn’t fully want to admit it. I wasn’t ready to. I also wasn’t ready to have him gone from my life completely either. I was emotionally needy. I did go back with him a few days later.
Rosie came unannounced to my apartment after the horrific fight with a tampon, carrying a stuffed bear. Rosie smothered the bear with my favorite cologne that he wore at the time and then gave to me. The cologne was called Prada, I think?
I named the bear Rosie junior. I slept with that bear every night we were separated from 2017 to 2023. I even brought it on my travels to and from Rosie’s over the several years. He used this bear to profusely apologize and tell me how much I meant to him. The bear was a manipulative way to get my sensory perception into a fond, nostalgic state of awareness. In other words, Rosie wanted me to long for him through the smell of the bear.
Rosie was relentless. Not only do soldiers learn how to handle bombs in the military, the training also teaches some soldiers, namely Rosie, how to use that training to Hiroshima love bomb the hell out of unsuspecting women.
Next thing I knew it was 2023, and I was sitting on his chair in Quebec, with Rosie junior sitting somewhere in Rosie’s bedroom, reminiscing about one of the more painful times in our journey together. Once again, I found myself crying whilst making plans to leave him with a stuffed bear in toe.
It’s amazing how we live in the past, present, and future in our minds all at the exact same time. Oftentimes without even realizing it. Past, present, and future are ingredients for you to have the “I am” experience. They are poured into the same cooking pot at the exact same time when you start your earthly experience. That’s one of the reasons for time being an illusion. I was living in each year Rosie had left me or hurt me all at the same time, inside my mind.
The next day I had a difficult time talking with Rosie’s daughter, Alyssa. She was doing her soft, somewhat manipulative best to get the details of mine and her dad’s disagreement. “Are you mad cause I told you Wendy was Dad’s girlfriend when we first moved here? Was it me who told you?, or did you already know he had a girlfriend?”.
I told Alyssa the truth to the best of my ability. I said “oh no sweetheart. It wasn’t you at all. I already knew about Wendy.” She said “okay”, then slowly walked away. Alyssa didn’t know what Rosie and I were fighting about. She used her own intuition, plus logical deduction, to formulate a rather accurate hypothesis. She was a smart, insightful cookie.
Alyssa did let it slip about Wendy innocently enough. How was she to know her dad was being unfaithful? I also did already know before she accidentally, and innocently spilled the beans. All Alyssa did was act as a conduit for spirit to reaffirm what I had already known for myself.
Spirit has always had my back, front, and sides. They still do. I didn’t tell Alyssa I was planning to leave. I didn’t tell Jean either. I stayed quiet about what the fight was about for the entire five days I was with them after the painful illumination. I followed Rosie’s wishes when it came to informing the kids. He decided it best I didn’t tell them. He wanted me to leave in silence so, I did.
After the five days of intense stress, discomfort, and a little back and forth of slight effort apologies on Rosie’s part, it was the day to leave. Rosie isn’t someone who authentically apologizes. He didn’t know how to. I can’t remember the exact day in April of 2023 that I left. I do remember being extremely anxious and lost in my head when waiting for Bill to arrive.
Rosie texted me to ask me a question. “When are you leaving?” Rosie was with his kids in Montreal. Even the weekend of me leaving Rosie still decided to go to his mom’s. He may of had some sexy time with someone else during that same time too for all I know. Rosie was having an affair with someone named Isabel by then. I know that. At this point it wouldn’t surprise me.
I told Rosie I was leaving a couple of hours later than I was actually scheduled to leave. He said “we will be home before you leave”. I said “please don’t”. Rosie didn’t respond. Now I was the one pacing back and forth.
I packed all of my things that had any resemblance of importance to me, and had placed them at the front door of the apartment. I was ready to leave in an instant. Bill showed up about two hours after Rosie had texted asking when I was leaving. Rosie was on his forty-five minute drive back to his apartment with the kids when Bill had shown up. He texted to let me know.
Was Rosie’s “friendly” notification to get me to wait? or, was it his way of setting me up so that he could tell the kids after I left, something along the lines of, “I even texted her to wait for us , and she still decided to leave without saying goodbye”? I knew there was more to his hidden agenda at that time. Rosie’s intelligence, coupled with his ego impulsiveness, scared the shit out of me. Not because Rosie would physically hurt me. It was more my awareness of the way he can manipulate my mind.
There was no time to waste. I brought all my stuff downstairs whilst Bill loaded up his Honda Civic. We were out of there in probably less than twenty minutes. I escaped not having to see Rosie. I was anxious of what he might do or say to me, or Bill for that matter. Especially in front of the kids.
I left peacefully and quietly just as Rosie wanted. It tore me apart not to give the kids a hug, tell them I would always love them, and say goodbye. The last time I saw them was the Friday beforehand, after school. It wasn’t for long either, because they usually left for Montreal within the hour of arriving home from school.
The long drive home with my ex husband was interesting and tiring to say the least. Oh what a life I have led.
LivWithClairity 
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