Six months ago today, my life changed. To be honest, as strong as I am, I fell apart. I can admit this. Six months and one day ago, I was a freaking princess in the middle of a fairy tale. I took this huge leap of faith and put all my trust in this man, this man of my dreams, and I jumped and you know what? All of my dreams were coming true. I hated to sleep because the waking days were better than any dream I ever had, even that reoccurring one with Trent Reznor and Prince William in the bathroom stall at the Viper Room where Johnny Depp walks in. Yeah. Life was good. Grand, baby.
My best friend was also my writing partner was also my publisher was also my lover. I really did wrap my everything up around the pure perfect existence of him. I spent my time pushing him, his writing, his business and my nights telling him what a man he was. I made him feel like a true master in every aspect of his life. I adored him.
Fast forward and then on his birthday, POOF. Houdini is gone. Okay, so yes, at this point, he was still married, but big WOW, I took my Scarlet Letter as if most marriages don’t end. On this day, he had his meeting with a divorce lawyer and we already signed a lease on our sweet little house. And POOF. Gone. Vanished. No twitter, no facebook- all social media deleted. No answering email, text or phone.
Not just me. Nope Friends. Authors. Family. All shut out. It was a pretty big wave of shock and everyone looking at me for an answer. Anyway, days turned to weeks and then a month. Nothing. Not for me. Not for friends, authors or family.
She never called me, nor answered when I called. Only email. I guess she was actually nicer to me than others in his family. Yes, I do say others in his family as if I was part of that, because… I was. Hell, now, I am more so than he is. At least I speak to them. I’d heard horror stories of this lady from multiple outlets and people warning me of her because they didn’t want me hurt. She was mean. isn’t that cute? People concerned about THE Kat Daughtry. I was honored to be seen as sweet, but come on, I am southern. When we say, “Oh hell naw” people run. I was one step away from Oh hell naw. But I tried being sweet as these other people saw me.
I begged her. Just let him go. What is done is done. I can’t be erased. He is always going to think of me. My memory will haunt them both forever. When he spaces out and smiles, she will know I am there. When he moans in his sleep, she will know I am there. When his shower takes a bit longer, there I am. Every time he touches a rope, there I am. If he touches her, when his eyes close really hard, there I am.
I promised her nothing would change. He hadn’t shared a bed with her in so long. All she needed was her life not to change. I promised, I would not get in the way of him helping her at anytime. No fuss on her keeping the house and her lovely lifestyle. I’d work my ass off- two jobs if needed, to make sure she kept her lifestyle- just let him go. Don’t make it hard. Don’t hold him where he doesn’t want to be. Don’t shut him away from friends and family. I begged. It hurt, but he was worth it. I loved him. He was my fate. She’d spent well enough time treating him like a paycheck. Not supporting his hobbies, career, passions… I even told her I hoped one day we could grow to become civil, if not friends.
Just before this, he made me promise to not let go. To hold on. No matter how rough it got- He loved me, he wanted me. This was not a question. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. He made me promise to not take anything to heart unless he flew across the country and looked me straight in the eyes and told me we were over. He also said he knew he could never look me in the eyes and say such things. I promised. I made him promise not to hurt me. To always communicate. We saw something like this coming. He promised. Silence.
A family member asked me to hold on. Wait past the holidays. Give him time for that with the kids and to recollect himself. I promised him forever, so surely, this was no problem. My birthday, I ached. Christmas, i ached. New Years, I bawled. We had already discussed all these events and us doing them together. And Silence.
So, my health is bad. I am falling apart. My kids are confused and hurt. I sold most everything to move cross country. As the mistress, I lost my publishing contracts/promises/in written and verbal form- knocking my literary dream back several steps right along with the rest of my life. I was temporarily staying with my mother until the move in a small, made for one person country cabin and now- bad health, jobless, few possessions and even less money and needing to put a roof over our head- I kept my promise and he kept his silence. God, I was so lost.
My friends and family had no clue what to do because tough as nails Kat Daughtry doesn’t crumble for any man. I may take one hot bath, cry it out and it is done. Not with him. I was a shell- an empty shell waiting. I hawked the internet waiting for a message. I slept with my phone and woke myself every hour to see if I had one of his messages. Silence. So I read all the old messages of love and our future over and over.
Everyday, I dealt with emails and calls asking about his vanishing act. Even his own authors and all I can do is assure them all, he knows what he is doing, the wonderful, fantastic man that he is. Silence. For the longest time, I only blamed her. He was my sweet victim of her wrath. Do not misunderstand me, within the deepest roots of my soul, I think she is, pardon my bluntness, a snobby self-centered cunt bucket of bitterness. She is like Hillary Clinton without the endless adoration and respect of the republican party. (Note serious sarcasm)- I am a reasonable person- had *I* been locked out and they were truly working on them, okay. Maybe fate used me to better them. But no- She shut him away from everyone that loves him, less his children. If you in fact love someone, you do not block out those that also love that person. There is no love in that situation. Only control.
I know the man has balls. God knows, they spent enough time in my mouth. He chooses to not use them. For six months I could not see this. He was a victim. Nothing more. But no, he is a grown man and he makes a living deciding the fate of other people, to be damn sure he could use those balls and claim his own fate. Every second he goes in silence is a second he chooses to hurt me and those that love him. There is no excuse.
Six months later, here I am and I love him. I do. I love him dearly. I attempted a date with someone from high school. My youngest asks me, “Is this your boyfriend?” I tell her no and she relaxes and tells me, “Good. I am still waiting for “Hillcrest” to come back to us.” Ouch. We love him. Damn it.
You know, the first time he kissed me, it was like an old movie kiss. Swooped back, in his arms. I fought to push him away, fearing he would regret me. He looked into my eyes with that smile of his and promised that could never happen and held me in his arms harder and gave me a Hollywood worthy kiss full of passion, need, fate- He kissed me in a way that as I sit her, in a full Scaret tantrum, I stop, smile and sigh. I would call him a son of a bitch, but I love his mother. She is kinda my idol.
So yes, six months later- Six months of radio silence. Six months of falling a part. Six months of feeling like I never existed to him no matter how many book dedications, emails, love letters, cards, drawings or texts I re-read telling me to hold on, he loves me- every second of the day his actions tell me he does not. But his eyes. I can still see the love he has for me when I picture his eyes. But his actions, show I am nothing but a regret. But his smile, God, the way he smiled when he was with me, for no reason- and then to hear from those that do manage to speak to him and tell me he sounds mostly dead, the life is gone in him, the spirit is missing. To see a new photo and hear people say he looks tired, aged and miserable- and to see it myself. And to know he sees it too, because just as fast as it is posted, it is replaced with one of his sweet eyes and smile during our time. And I feel the need to make it all better, to revive him and give the world back this amazing man. But there is no way for me to do this. I am used to him tying my hands behind my back, but it is so much more enjoyable with rope than with pain and silence.
I pray for him. Every night I pray for myself and for him. Not that we be together, but that he provides us both with the strength for his will to be done. Be that the strength for him to stand up and claim me and his family- or just his family. Be that the strength for me to fall asleep and not find my only comfort in the thoughts of sleeping in his arms. The strength to stop waiting. Every night, I pray and I ask God to tell him I love him, since I cannot. Sometimes, I think I feel an I love you back.
Six months has turned from the support and compassion of friends to the anger and seclusion of friends. I look weak. I look broken. I look pathetic. Nobody wants to hear how I love him. Nobody wants to hear what a good guy he is. Nobody wants to hear how I would rather wait forever than to settle for someone I would only wish were him. His name has become taboo. It hurts. It hurts like all levels of hell, but seeing it from the sight of friends, I suppose I would be done with watching them crumble for six months straight, especially when someone is not the crumbling type.
I recall when my father died, I cried once when life support shut off. I cried a little in the shower after the service and for almost a year, i shed no tears until Christmas and I shut myself in my closet and cried myself sick, begging God why. Crying is a weakness I’ve never tolerated well. For six months, I have sneaked away when I could and curled up on top of my father’s grave and cried like a baby. Since my father died, Hillcrest was the only other man that I could look into his eyes and not doubt his love for me. That’s what makes it so hard. It feels like living everyday listening to life support shut down.
Six months. I deserve better. I am so abnormal, I know I deserve more than better. I am a rare breed of southern sweetness and sass with timeless passion and the wild streak of chasing dreams or die trying. I am a work of art. The artist knows it. Six months.
To hell with you, Hillcrest. To hell with your broken promises. To hell with your poetry and German grunts. To hell with the closeness you created with my kids. To hell with sapphires and July 7th and all I did to build you up for your balls to shrivel and you watch me suffer for you. I hope every time you look at your reflection you see mine inside your eyes and I hope you see the ring of fire around my eyes- the anger, the passion, the hurt, the strength. I hope you settle into your chair each morning at your fuckdesk and I hope the sounds of my moans echo and make your heart shatter like a fresh gash filled with black pepper. I hope all of your books consider to sell like hotcakes in December. I hope you get that lit award and with every sell and that award I hope you tell yourself what a fuckery of friendship and love you created knowing how many of those books set on my shelf with a “if not for you” inscription and and knowing how you were nominated for that award. I hope the books that are not on my shelf you look at and think of our conversations about plotting them out. I hope you are ready for Steamfate. I hope you lay awake and wonder if I have fucked anyone and if we did our position and I hope you do fuck her and I hope, with every thrust, your blood boils because you don’t feel the roll of my hips and the thrust in return with the arching back and the word “Master” rolling off my hot tongue begging for harder- begging to hurt. No, honestly, I just proved my love. I know she trolls me. I just taught her a simple move. Maybe she will use it and you’ll get to grunt sweet profanities in german as you cum once again. Either way, the thought of me will be there.
I may be no lady. But you, sir, are no gentleman. And you know it because I wrote this blog You read it. And face it, your heart is racing knowing how every word would sound coming from my saucy southern voice and your dick hasn’t been this hard since the rope bound blow job in the opal room…*pause* *play* And now that you have returned from that flashback, your dick is even harder knowing other people are reading this and your heart hurts so badly you are taking slower deep breathes and your head hurts because I was the best damn thing God ever gave you- A sweet, smart sexy woman. A kinky God loving southern belle that stand for what she believes and falls for your every word. A supporter of your every wish and desire. A laugh that intoxicates you. Eyes that burn through you. A hand that was made to fit inside yours. Other things, made to fit ever so perfectly. A girl much younger that loves you, your kids, your family, your dreams- A girl that will drop to her knees as you rest in a wingback chair and ask what her Master wishes of her, with wet pouting lips and begging eyes. A girl that will wear your favorite comic hero shirt, matching panties and fishnets just to see you smile and ride you like a rodeo… Sigh.
You are weak. You are a coward. You are empty and everyone sees it. You hurt me. Everyday you hurt me. I deserve a million times better than what you could ever come back with. You said trust you. Have faith. Jump. You will catch me. You let me fall. You let me crash into the ground and shatter. No woman deserves that, especially not one like me. I am breaking my promise. I am done waiting, phone checking-waiting for a surprise visit. You broke your promise in silence. You allow yourself to be controlled and lock out those that love you.
When you love yourself enough to stand up and own your life and choices, only then will you be capable of real love. I close this door. But you lucky fucking bastard, when you find your balls and man up- use the strength and knock that fucking door straight off the hinges. Not saying that is all it takes. I am simply stating, talk to me when you can man up and do that. I will still pray for you every single night. And if nothing else, maybe she will move a little when you fuck her now. Sweet ol’ me. Ya’ll are welcome…
Your Darling Kat-