Creative Writing: "Over The Hill"

As ever, I wrote this for Folktakes, broadcast every Sunday 3-4pm on LSRfm.com. It's written to "Over The Hill" by Alessi's Ark. 
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Envy’s a funny one, isn’t it? I mean, no matter how much you try and control it, no matter how much you tell yourself you’re not the jealous type, it still finds a way in. It creeps around those barriers you build for yourself, burrowing its way under the wire and niggling away at you with a persistence that means you’ll soon be engulfed and drowning. A real green-eyed monster.

That’s what I am now. Envious and hurting, riddled with pain. I knew when we started this that I wasn’t the only one. That I wasn’t even the real one, that I was just your bit on the side. I thought I’d be ok with it, I thought that I could cope with the knowledge that all the time you weren’t with me you were with her, because I had you, or at least some of you, sometimes. 

But I’m not ok. I’m not ok at all. I’m seething with anguish. I can’t bear the thought that she gets to touch you, to hold you, to tell all she meets that you’re hers, whilst I… I get shadowy corners and late night messages and secrecy. I want to stand on the roof tops and scream that you’re mine. I want to write it in ten-foot letters on the side of buildings. I want to take you to places, to meet my mum, to show you off to my friends and have them all know that we’re in love. This, I would tell everyone, is my boyfriend. Isn’t he marvellous? Instead, I’m here biting my tongue again. Keeping secrets, keeping your secrets so you can keep her. Why am I doing this? I don’t want you to keep her, I don’t want to share you anymore! But if I betray you, you’ll leave me, and that hurt would be worse than any jealousy.

I think I’m tired of this. Tired of being second best, of living for your call. I hate the front I put on every time I see her hold your hand or stroke your hair, the pretence of indifference when all the while I’m dying inside. I barely remember the time before you, but then, I’m sure, I didn’t have to beg someone to love me. I’m sure that before you, I thought I deserved better. Not for the first time, I think of ending it, of cutting you off to stop you ripping me apart. But then you’re there, smiling, and I’m falling once again into the abyss.