Song of the Siren
“I have to go to Fortnum & Mason to pick up some lemon curd”. I'd never heard anything like it, and from that point on I knew I wanted her. She skipped out of the salsa club, as I watched her slim body and cute bobbed, blonde hair disappear from view. Her name was Francesca, or Cesca as she liked to be known, she was 23 years old, and I'd been dancing with her for a month or so. She was fun, vibrant, charming and strong. Later in the week, we met for a drink and got to know each other better in the candlelight of Gordon's Wine Bar at Charing Cross. She loved food and travel, and had her own poodle called Rio. I leaned in to kiss her, “I have a boyfriend” she said, maybe enjoying the line a little too much. On the train home, I “dropped the ball”. She offered to come back to mine and I somehow missed the plausible deniability.
Three years later, in the cloud forest of Costa Rica, a text pinged through to me – it was Cesca. She had steadfastly kept contact by texting every four months or so. I found it odd that she did that, and this time I didn't bother to reply. But come December I looked at my phone and sent the following, “Hi there, I have a hankering for mulled wine and mistletoe. Come join me.” That night I took her to bed and we had the wildest sex all night long. She seemed to be everything I ever wanted. The following morning I took her to my local coffee shop and we had breakfast together. My heart sank when she explained she was still very much with Michael her boyfriend.
The illicit liaison continued for the next 3 months. The sex got even better, and she matched my high sex drive. She was kitten-like and attentive. She bought me gifts and paraded around my flat in ever-changing underwear. I tried to reign myself in emotionally and continued to meet other women in a casual way, in most part to keep myself grounded. I hated the cheating and marvelled at how remorselessly she would call him from my flat to conceal her tracks. On one occasion, she even had her mother cover for her (she lived at home), should he call there whilst with me. She finally finished with him citing a lack of common goals and the possibility that he might have been cheating on her. Those reasons didn't seem clear enough to me.
Instead of falling into my arms, the first of many warnings came when she announced “Now I'm single I can do WHATEVER I want...”. The inflection in her voice was a taunt. I felt compelled to be non-reactive, after all who was I to dictate to her in the aftermath of her break-up? She moved jobs to become a personal assistant in a group of successful restaurants in London, and I felt happy for her. The next two weeks she went on a rampage, I saw very little of her but knew she was out drunk almost every night. My heart sank again when we accidently matched on Tinder and I knew she was actively looking for other men. She then told me she'd been in conversation with a couple of guys but “didn't like it”. I could feel her total lack of commitment and that's when my anxiety started.
I started to think about her obsessively and would constantly check my phone for signs of contact. She occupied my mind constantly, and I was getting around 3 hours sleep a night. I became totally exhausted with worry. I went to the doctor to discuss the problem and he booked me in to see a cognitive behaviour therapist to help. Cesca had a short trip to Moscow arranged and I knew I had to formally discuss before she went what I wanted from her – a relationship. We arranged to meet on the Tuesday night, but she cancelled as expected, offering me to come to her parent's house instead. When I calmly informed her I was on my way she texted “You're joking”. It was obviously a bluff that had backfired. I arrived at her house, met her parents, then met her once she'd come back from her dog walk. She agreed we would be exclusive, but the slight hesitancy in her voice gave away her true feelings.
Things seemed to be progressing when she texted me twice daily from Moscow. When she got back she cited her friend arriving from Australia and then her godmother arriving from the US, as reasons why we wouldn't be seeing much of each other over the next three weeks. Despite her making contact via text or phone most days, I was constantly unable to get her to consistently commit to finding time together. She was clearly prioritising her social life over spending time in her relationship. One evening when we'd had quite a bit to drink, she told me she'd slept with one of the Tinder guys before we became exclusive, and, without showing any emotion whatsoever, stated “it was something I needed to do”. I was crestfallen.
Her true colours started to slowly appear. I would engage her on an emotional level and she said she found it difficult to relate in that way. There was little to no emotional intimacy, she was so cold. As time went on, she would ridicule and mock any attempt to connect with her as some kind of weakness. She was very negative all of the time and started to undermine my self-worth by showing no appreciation or empathy, alongside a constant stream of low-grade criticism. My confidence fell, and along with the anxiety and exhaustion, I became very confused. I remember her using the words “You're crazy”, “You should have therapy” and “You're very sensitive” as statements that would direct her problems onto me. She managed down my expectations in the relationship by keeping her options open, arriving late and leaving early when we met. She started to try and gain further control by trying to withhold sex, or teasing with various sexual offers that were never forthcoming. Despite this, she kept texting and fantasising about our future together.
It was clear that she was very self-centred and entitled. She also had an overly inflated opinion of herself and seemed to draw her identity from the valuable people at the restaurant. She started to go out drinking with the people from work and my insecurity increased. I didn't trust her and I knew temptation was only a drink or two away. Her other character traits included jealousy, which clearly extended to me, and on very simple things. I made note of her hatred of authority, at times it would appear that she was actually above the law.
I suddenly realised one day that Cesca would talk about other men. I didn't notice at first, her detailed comments about male models in the magazines we read. I was perplexed by her description of the physical appearance of the two Italian men she worked with, out of context whilst out walking on the beach one day, and without any conclusion as to why she had brought that up. On one occasion, after we had been sending erotic texts to each other during her train journey over to me, she took great delight in telling me she had been looking at her fellow passengers “large package” while we were texting. Her ploy to make me insecure and jealous reached new heights, when announcing that her ex-boyfriend had a larger penis than me, comparing the length on a sex toy in a shop in Leicester Square.
There was also dishonesty. Cesca told me a story about how she came over to her friends aunt's house, after they'd been out drinking and socialising, to watch a television show that was actually never on. Another tale involved her losing her debit card in the bin at work that she would have to go back for. She arrived late smelling of alcohol, and when confronted about this she flew into a terrible rage, “I knew you would notice!” “I only had one cocktail and stayed for twenty minutes!”. Eyes bulging, she then proceeded to deflect the accusation onto another topic, blaming me for not texting her back in the morning, a ploy she was very used to using herself. This was not withstanding all the nights she was out that I had no real information about.
I refused to be a walk-over though. We had three relationship talks were I was prepared to walk away. I sat her down, and in a non-blaming way, clearly discussed with her how I felt about her punctuality, commitment, appreciation and finally trust. I suggested that she be more open about her social life outside of her relationship as a way of building our trust together, due to the manner in which are relationship started. However, her flagrant behaviour continued unabated. Phone calls were not returned, and she was secretive about what she was doing. It is difficult to describe how I felt, but it was the anxiety, that awful crushing tightness in my chest, that hurt me the most. It was perpetual and unrelenting. I was constantly disappointed, angry, frustrated, and I felt worthless, exhausted and miserable. On a logical level I knew I was in a toxic relationship, but emotionally I was committed to her and unable to extricate myself. I was trapped, caught between love and despair, except that love should never have felt like that. I remember her lying naked in my arms one night, I looked at her full of happiness and got back...pure hate. I felt my blood run cold. Who was this person?
We broke up three weeks ago. She tried to cancel our Saturday night meet up, trying to down grade to visiting on Sunday only.
E5: “This isn't right, why wouldn't you want to come to see me? I'm not carrying on like this, and I refuse to be an emotional airbag for your last relationship”
E5: “What do you want Cesca?”
Cesca: “I don't want to be in a serious relationship”
It almost felt like she wanted to keep me involved, but in some lesser capacity, so she could still have her freedom. The pain after that phone call was like nothing I'd ever experienced before...
One week later a text arrived:
Cesca: “You OK? I miss you so much.”
Cesca: “I don't want to lose you”
E5: “What do you mean by lose me?”
Cesca: “I want you as a friend. To call, chat, eat, etc.”
E5: “Would a friend have burnt down our House of Cards like that? You showed me no love, no empathy, you gave me nothing”
Cesca: “I'm so sorry”
E5: “Do you love yourself Cesca?”
Cesca: “No. Why?”
E5: “Because you have to love yourself before you can love others”
Cesca: “Do you think I have a black heart. Maybe I do. I'm so sick and tired of this world.”
Cesca: “Something happened to me.”
Cesca: “If you'd been through what I've been through, you'd have a black heart too”
She refused to tell me the trauma, real or otherwise, that had happened to her in the past. My emotional wounds were re-opened by that ninety minute phone conversation. She was sobbing and said “I just want to hold you in my arms”. Her guilt and emotion felt very real. We relived the good times and cried together, it was a tender moment in a ragged relationship. As I sit and write my story I stop and wonder. Was this a failed relationship with the wrong person who was on “the rebound” from her previous break-up, with my anxiety self-driven; or was this emotional abuse at the hands of a tortured soul with narcissism – the song of the Siren?
“I have to go to Fortnum & Mason to pick up some lemon curd”. I'd never heard anything like it, and from that point on I knew I wanted her. She skipped out of the salsa club, as I watched her slim body and cute bobbed, blonde hair disappear from view. Her name was Francesca, or Cesca as she liked to be known, she was 23 years old, and I'd been dancing with her for a month or so. She was fun, vibrant, charming and strong. Later in the week, we met for a drink and got to know each other better in the candlelight of Gordon's Wine Bar at Charing Cross. She loved food and travel, and had her own poodle called Rio. I leaned in to kiss her, “I have a boyfriend” she said, maybe enjoying the line a little too much. On the train home, I “dropped the ball”. She offered to come back to mine and I somehow missed the plausible deniability.
Three years later, in the cloud forest of Costa Rica, a text pinged through to me – it was Cesca. She had steadfastly kept contact by texting every four months or so. I found it odd that she did that, and this time I didn't bother to reply. But come December I looked at my phone and sent the following, “Hi there, I have a hankering for mulled wine and mistletoe. Come join me.” That night I took her to bed and we had the wildest sex all night long. She seemed to be everything I ever wanted. The following morning I took her to my local coffee shop and we had breakfast together. My heart sank when she explained she was still very much with Michael her boyfriend.
The illicit liaison continued for the next 3 months. The sex got even better, and she matched my high sex drive. She was kitten-like and attentive. She bought me gifts and paraded around my flat in ever-changing underwear. I tried to reign myself in emotionally and continued to meet other women in a casual way, in most part to keep myself grounded. I hated the cheating and marvelled at how remorselessly she would call him from my flat to conceal her tracks. On one occasion, she even had her mother cover for her (she lived at home), should he call there whilst with me. She finally finished with him citing a lack of common goals and the possibility that he might have been cheating on her. Those reasons didn't seem clear enough to me.
Instead of falling into my arms, the first of many warnings came when she announced “Now I'm single I can do WHATEVER I want...”. The inflection in her voice was a taunt. I felt compelled to be non-reactive, after all who was I to dictate to her in the aftermath of her break-up? She moved jobs to become a personal assistant in a group of successful restaurants in London, and I felt happy for her. The next two weeks she went on a rampage, I saw very little of her but knew she was out drunk almost every night. My heart sank again when we accidently matched on Tinder and I knew she was actively looking for other men. She then told me she'd been in conversation with a couple of guys but “didn't like it”. I could feel her total lack of commitment and that's when my anxiety started.
I started to think about her obsessively and would constantly check my phone for signs of contact. She occupied my mind constantly, and I was getting around 3 hours sleep a night. I became totally exhausted with worry. I went to the doctor to discuss the problem and he booked me in to see a cognitive behaviour therapist to help. Cesca had a short trip to Moscow arranged and I knew I had to formally discuss before she went what I wanted from her – a relationship. We arranged to meet on the Tuesday night, but she cancelled as expected, offering me to come to her parent's house instead. When I calmly informed her I was on my way she texted “You're joking”. It was obviously a bluff that had backfired. I arrived at her house, met her parents, then met her once she'd come back from her dog walk. She agreed we would be exclusive, but the slight hesitancy in her voice gave away her true feelings.
Things seemed to be progressing when she texted me twice daily from Moscow. When she got back she cited her friend arriving from Australia and then her godmother arriving from the US, as reasons why we wouldn't be seeing much of each other over the next three weeks. Despite her making contact via text or phone most days, I was constantly unable to get her to consistently commit to finding time together. She was clearly prioritising her social life over spending time in her relationship. One evening when we'd had quite a bit to drink, she told me she'd slept with one of the Tinder guys before we became exclusive, and, without showing any emotion whatsoever, stated “it was something I needed to do”. I was crestfallen.
Her true colours started to slowly appear. I would engage her on an emotional level and she said she found it difficult to relate in that way. There was little to no emotional intimacy, she was so cold. As time went on, she would ridicule and mock any attempt to connect with her as some kind of weakness. She was very negative all of the time and started to undermine my self-worth by showing no appreciation or empathy, alongside a constant stream of low-grade criticism. My confidence fell, and along with the anxiety and exhaustion, I became very confused. I remember her using the words “You're crazy”, “You should have therapy” and “You're very sensitive” as statements that would direct her problems onto me. She managed down my expectations in the relationship by keeping her options open, arriving late and leaving early when we met. She started to try and gain further control by trying to withhold sex, or teasing with various sexual offers that were never forthcoming. Despite this, she kept texting and fantasising about our future together.
It was clear that she was very self-centred and entitled. She also had an overly inflated opinion of herself and seemed to draw her identity from the valuable people at the restaurant. She started to go out drinking with the people from work and my insecurity increased. I didn't trust her and I knew temptation was only a drink or two away. Her other character traits included jealousy, which clearly extended to me, and on very simple things. I made note of her hatred of authority, at times it would appear that she was actually above the law.
I suddenly realised one day that Cesca would talk about other men. I didn't notice at first, her detailed comments about male models in the magazines we read. I was perplexed by her description of the physical appearance of the two Italian men she worked with, out of context whilst out walking on the beach one day, and without any conclusion as to why she had brought that up. On one occasion, after we had been sending erotic texts to each other during her train journey over to me, she took great delight in telling me she had been looking at her fellow passengers “large package” while we were texting. Her ploy to make me insecure and jealous reached new heights, when announcing that her ex-boyfriend had a larger penis than me, comparing the length on a sex toy in a shop in Leicester Square.
There was also dishonesty. Cesca told me a story about how she came over to her friends aunt's house, after they'd been out drinking and socialising, to watch a television show that was actually never on. Another tale involved her losing her debit card in the bin at work that she would have to go back for. She arrived late smelling of alcohol, and when confronted about this she flew into a terrible rage, “I knew you would notice!” “I only had one cocktail and stayed for twenty minutes!”. Eyes bulging, she then proceeded to deflect the accusation onto another topic, blaming me for not texting her back in the morning, a ploy she was very used to using herself. This was not withstanding all the nights she was out that I had no real information about.
I refused to be a walk-over though. We had three relationship talks were I was prepared to walk away. I sat her down, and in a non-blaming way, clearly discussed with her how I felt about her punctuality, commitment, appreciation and finally trust. I suggested that she be more open about her social life outside of her relationship as a way of building our trust together, due to the manner in which are relationship started. However, her flagrant behaviour continued unabated. Phone calls were not returned, and she was secretive about what she was doing. It is difficult to describe how I felt, but it was the anxiety, that awful crushing tightness in my chest, that hurt me the most. It was perpetual and unrelenting. I was constantly disappointed, angry, frustrated, and I felt worthless, exhausted and miserable. On a logical level I knew I was in a toxic relationship, but emotionally I was committed to her and unable to extricate myself. I was trapped, caught between love and despair, except that love should never have felt like that. I remember her lying naked in my arms one night, I looked at her full of happiness and got back...pure hate. I felt my blood run cold. Who was this person?
We broke up three weeks ago. She tried to cancel our Saturday night meet up, trying to down grade to visiting on Sunday only.
E5: “This isn't right, why wouldn't you want to come to see me? I'm not carrying on like this, and I refuse to be an emotional airbag for your last relationship”
E5: “What do you want Cesca?”
Cesca: “I don't want to be in a serious relationship”
It almost felt like she wanted to keep me involved, but in some lesser capacity, so she could still have her freedom. The pain after that phone call was like nothing I'd ever experienced before...
One week later a text arrived:
Cesca: “You OK? I miss you so much.”
Cesca: “I don't want to lose you”
E5: “What do you mean by lose me?”
Cesca: “I want you as a friend. To call, chat, eat, etc.”
E5: “Would a friend have burnt down our House of Cards like that? You showed me no love, no empathy, you gave me nothing”
Cesca: “I'm so sorry”
E5: “Do you love yourself Cesca?”
Cesca: “No. Why?”
E5: “Because you have to love yourself before you can love others”
Cesca: “Do you think I have a black heart. Maybe I do. I'm so sick and tired of this world.”
Cesca: “Something happened to me.”
Cesca: “If you'd been through what I've been through, you'd have a black heart too”
She refused to tell me the trauma, real or otherwise, that had happened to her in the past. My emotional wounds were re-opened by that ninety minute phone conversation. She was sobbing and said “I just want to hold you in my arms”. Her guilt and emotion felt very real. We relived the good times and cried together, it was a tender moment in a ragged relationship. As I sit and write my story I stop and wonder. Was this a failed relationship with the wrong person who was on “the rebound” from her previous break-up, with my anxiety self-driven; or was this emotional abuse at the hands of a tortured soul with narcissism – the song of the Siren?
