On the Aftermath of Meeting Mr Wonderful and The Price of Freedom

Hey Ragers and Ragettes!!!  It’s  a cooler day here in the Northwest of England.  I’m quite happy because I am able to sleep again.  Today I am rocking my favorite white cami, a white cardigan, my favorite summer trousers (burgundy with navy blue, yellow and white print) and my black sandals with black flowers on then.  My hair is up in a bun and I’m wearing my favorite burgundy lippy.  

Well, following from last post, the weekend that I met Mr Wonderful set a chain reaction, and what a reaction it turned out to be!! 

Every weekend since I left Simon, I would on a Friday night get into my little red car and drive down in the traffic (the M6 is a nightmare!!)  to check on him, clean the guinea pigs and make sure everything was ok.  This whole exercise sets me back £300 per month.    

After that weekend, I was sitting in traffic in the heat and I started getting angry.  As in incandescent with total and absolute rage.  Why the fuck am I sitting in traffic wasting petrol and my time just to come down and clean some fucking guinea pigs because he is too fucking lazy?  The only person getting anything out of this is him!!!  Not me!!!

After my weekend I decided enough was enough.  I asked my landlady if I could bring my guinea pigs with me.  She said no.  So then I decided ok, I need to leave.

Enter, Helena.  Helena works in Sales with me.  She is quiet, dark haired and very pretty.  We clicked instantly and I was telling her on the following Friday what I had to do each week.  

She then told me, I have a room.  You can have it.  I was shocked. 

I then went to hers and saw the room.  It was smaller than what I had but I could bring my guinea pigs with me and the rent was lower.  So £300 savings straight away!!!

So on July 5^th, I packed my little red car up and moved my stuff over the course of 3 days into my new place.  I realised that I have a lot of stuff and I mean a lot of stuff!!!  Like loads of stuff.  I moved the pigs in and for the first week I slept on an airbed.  The price of freedom, eh?

Soon as I moved in I noticed a few things about my new housemate…like her raging alcohol problem.  As in she would drink 2-3 bottles of wine in one sitting 3 – 4 times a week.  Not good.  Or the fact that she likes to eat your food and use your expensive face creams.  Now Ragers and Ragettes, I don’t have a problem with people using my stuff, but I expect it to be replaced.  The best thing though was when she drank a bottle of wine that I had in the fridge, bought me a bottle of wine to replace said bottle of wine and then proceeded to drink that bottle of wine.  So I don’t keep alcohol in the house at all.  I haven’t had a drink for 2 weeks because I frankly don’t want to end up like that. She never has any money but has enough to buy bottles of wine.  

The area the house is in isn’t the worst but it isn’t the best.  I woke up a few days ago to my car door open with glove box open as if someone rifled through it. Nothing was taken but I felt violated.

There have been times that I thought that I had made a huge mistake.  But this is the price of freedom.  

I then went to Switzerland and had the most amazing time with Mr Wonderful.  He treated me like a goddess.  He respected the sex ban totally (we went to bed together and explored each other’s bodies but we didn’t have full on sex which was fine with me.) and showed me beautiful places, scenery that is to die for, great restaurants, and a way of life that I never thought I could have.  I needed the break.  

When I got back I was relaxed.  I got in and Helena’s sister (who is an entitled brat) was there drinking wine.  I opened the fridge and more of my food was gone,  the Guinea pigs had no food or water (even though she claims that she wold have taken care of them) and I just sighed.  The price of freedom?

Things bobbed along.  Helena’s cycle goes as follows.  Day 1.  Get in, drink 2-3 bottles of wine, be loud, be very honest (according to her I’m not very pretty and I need to remove some of my piercings as they age me.  I also need to get rid of my guinea pigs, according to drunk Helena) and try to get me to drink which I don’t.  I go to bed early.  I wake up to empty bottles, wines glasses and more of my food being eaten.  

Day 2, Helena gets into work stinking of booze and she does her work and goes home.  She will make dinner and fall asleep on the couch.  The cycle then repeats.

But recently, Helena’s cycle has resulted in her pulling sickies for being too hungover to come into work.  But 2 nights ago, something happened resulting in me reconsidering my position.

Helena hates work.  I love my job very much but she absolutely hates it.  When she gets drunk she bitches about work and her colleagues.  None of the girls have a problem with her.  I’m much older than the.  They discuss things that I don’t understand. But I respect them.  I chat to them, we have a laugh.  She used to work in real estate and she ended up contacting her old boss about getting her old job back.

I do understand that if you are not happy then you need to find your happiness.  I have been in jobs where I have felt unhappy but people have been happy.  It’s one of those things.  

On Tuesday night, I got back to the house and I was making my dinner and Helena and her entitled little brat of a sister followed.  She looked at what I was cooking (I am on a healthy eating plan, I’ve lost 15 pounds thank you very much!) and she commented “That looks boring and gross”.  Helena and I looked at each other.  Helena said, that looks lovely Betty, you’re doing a great job.  She put her shopping bag on the table and 5 bottles of red wine came out.  Helena smiled and said I am celebrating.  My old job is taking me back!  I congratulated her but  I knew that after dinner I would need to go upstairs and lock myself in my room.

I did just that.  I packed my gym bag and put my clothes out for the next day.  I did my nightly meditation and drifted off to sleep at about 9pm.  

At midnight I woke up to Helena screaming my name.  I could hear her sister screeching.  I thought, oh shit, what’s happened???  I put my dressing gown on and ran downstairs into the front room.  There were 2 wine glasses and all 5 wine bottles were empty.

Helena’s eyes had cuts under them and I could see bruising developing.  Her nose was bleeding.  There were scratches down her chest and on her arms.  Her makeup was running down her face.  Her sister was screeching you broke my nail you bitch (her sister has acrylic nails) and one of her nails snapped off and there was blood running down her hands.  Helena then grabbed me and said Betty she punched me!!!  I walked into the kitchen trying to grab some ice for Helena’s face.  Helena and her sister followed screaming and I mean screaming at each other.    I tried calming them both down as the house is a semi-detached house and the neighbours probably heard every word.  They were hurling insults at each other.  Helena’s sister lunged at Helena again and tried to scratch Helena’s eyes out. I looked in the sink in the kitchen hoping there were no knives or sharp objects.  Helena’s sister had the look about her like a cornered animal.  Wild, unpredictable.  I was shitting myself.  I didn’t know what to do.  As she going to try and lunge at me.  Her sister was slurring her words and shouting something about how Helena is a horrible bitch and hat she bought all the alcohol tonight and she just uses people.

Helena broke away and grabbed her phone and called her dad to get her sister.  Dad’s getting you she howled at her sister.  Helena tried to get her sister’s stuff and force her out, Helena’s sister attacked her again.  

After what seemed years but was only 15 minutes, her father showed up and grabbed Helena’s sister and dragged her into the car.  He came back looked at Helena and said, You need to stop drinking.  The door shut.  Helena collapsed to the floor sobbing.

Part of me was like “What the fuck just happened?  What do I do?”  I hugged Helena.  I went into the kitchen poured her a glass of water and told her to drink it.  I helped her up the stairs and wiped her face down.  The bruising was coming through.  She was babbling incoherently.    I took her to bed and tucked her in.  She was still crying.  I held her for a bit until the sobs were replaced by snores.

I got up, checked the time and it was 12:45am.  I didn’t sleep a wink that night.

When my alarm went off, I got up and got dressed.  I skipped the gym and went straight into work.  I was wondering if Helena was going to make it in.  I was making my morning cup of coffee and was chatting to eh girls as I always do.  I missed the 5 messages from Helena.  Betty, I can’t go in.  My face, Betty, my face.  I can’t go in.

Now everyone in work knows that I live with Helena.  At 9am, when Helena was due in, her manager come over to me and asked where Helena was.

I looked at her and said the response that I was so used to giving.  I don’t know.

I denied all knowledge.  

I messaged Helena begging her to call in.  She ended up sending a text message.  

Helena had handed her resignation in.  

So the rest of the day for me was awkward.  I work with a bunch of girls who act as girls do.  They gossip and such.  At first no one spoke to me.  But then in the afternoon, one of the more gobbier girls asked what was going on.  I just said, I don’t’ know.  She looked at me and said I feel sorry for you Betty.  You have your shit together.  The rest of the girls chimed in.  They were all in support of ME!

Helena messaged and asked to get some stuff from her desk, which I did.

When I got in, she was on the phone to the council about getting money as she is now unemployed.  I silently made my dinner.  When she finally put the phone down she walked over to me and hugged me tightly.  

Thank you Betty, she said.    Her bruised face smiled at me. 

It turns out her sister has mental health issues and refuses to take her medication.  

Helena starts her new job on the 20^th.  

I now don’t know what to do, Ragers and Ragettes.  Do I stay or do I go?  Can I live in a place like this?  I have 2 viewings booked for apartments that I will be attending on Monday.  

Is this the price of freedom?  Is this the true price?  Staying with a nice, but troubled girl?  People ask if I am ok.  I’m not.  I am sad, hurt, and confused.  

But this seems to be the price of freedom.  

Until next time, Ragers and Ragettes, keep your head and standards high and your heels even higher.  

Lots of love

The Fabulous Betty Rage xxxx