Why Does She Want To Be Friends Again? Meet Number 10!

Have you ever had that one person that seems to friend and un-friend you every five minutes on Facebook? I have one. I’ll call her the Supervisor’s Wife. The Supervisor is Number 10 on the list What’s Your Number? Updated…

Just a couple of days ago, she added me as a friend on Facebook again and honestly, I don’t know why she does this to herself. I don’t think her and the Supervisor are still together now but when they were, he was sleeping with me. In fact, this went on for about six months on and off. It may even have been longer than that. She knew about it. Well, she thinks she found out about it. There was never any definitive proof but she knew. How could she not?

I don’t remember how it started. It was about 6 or 7 years ago. I had been in the new country with the Hubby for about two years when I switched jobs and Number 10 became my supervisor. He had a massive drug problem. In fact, he had a lot of problems. He was addicted to coke and speed, regularly did them both at work and out of it, regularly self-harmed to a quite extreme level, and had absolutely no self-confidence. He wasn’t particularly attractive but he had a heart of gold, and he was a lot of fun when he let his hair down. That’s how it all began.

There was a group of about four of us that worked together – two boys and two girls. Me (married), the Supervisor (married with two children), my champagne-buddy girlfriend (married), and a single son of one of the military guys. It was a weird little group but it worked. We had each other’s back, we worked together well and we also regularly partied together. And by partied, I mean PARTIED.

Friday nights weren’t complete without that little baggy of cocaine stuffed inside my bra, and the ‘sparkle-dust’ (as we called it) started to take a very obvious role in all of our lives. It’s funny how hard and how fast the addiction takes hold of you. We were all addicted to one degree or another whether we wanted to admit it or not. Towards the end, cocaine was the only thing keeping my marriage together. We only got along when the Hubby and I were taking it together and it started to become the foundation of our relationship – we did cocaine together, he’d spill his guts out about yet another infidelity, and I’d pick up the pieces. That’s how it worked. That was my life for about two and half to three years. It was brutal.

We had some great nights, minus the Hubby. He was barely around and when he was, he was either cheating on me, telling me about when he had cheated on me, beating the shit out of me, or being a general cunt. There were random Tuesday nights where we’d buy eight bottles of rose wine and drink the whole lot, still awake at 5am the next morning when most of us had work at 8. There were random Thursday nights where we’d find ourselves in steak-houses belonging to what appeared to be the mafia, sat around tables before the restaurant opened, mounds of cocaine on the table and hand-guns scattering the room. It didn’t matter what day of the week it was. If one of us had spare money or could score another pretty little package of ‘sparkle-dust’, shit was going down.

I remember the most random of nights. I remember all of us commandeering a child’s paddling pool at 4 in the morning, splashing around and shrieking, fully-dressed, waking up the neighbours and getting ourselves in trouble. That same night, the single guy was dressed in one of my PVC naughties, and the Supervisor was hiding in my closet dressed as a French maid. That’s the kind of happiness the four of us had together – it was bonkers, never made any sense, was totally unpredictable and gave us stories that we’ll remember for a lifetime.

I remember the first time that we all went out after the other guys had found out the Supervisor and I had started sleeping together. It was stolen kisses in dark club corners at first, but it wasn’t long before we were back at mine, drugged up to the eye balls, chomping our jaws as we tore each other’s clothes off in the middle of the living room. It was daylight at this point, we had been awake all night. The curtains were open and anyone could have seen. We didn’t care.

The sex itself was pretty hopeless. By this point, the Supervisor was so fucked on every drug imaginable, he could barely get an erection and when he did, it was never for very long. Our passionate nights very rarely focused on him. For the most part it was a lot of me naked, lying on the floor in the living room while he did pretty much whatever he wanted to my body. It was the confidence-boosting exercise that both of us needed. It was never going to go anywhere. We were both married after all, and he had two kids with his wife!

Except he fell in love with me. He was devastated when he found out I was going to the War Zone and he stopped talking to me completely for a while. I knew what he was doing – he was trying to keep his distance and stop himself from hurting. I know the drill. I’ve been there. He was even more devastated when I came home to tell him that I had left my Hubby, decided to move back home, and had fallen head over heels in love with someone else – Big Love.

I know I probably really hurt him. I also know his wife got put in the cross-fire. Before I came along, she was happily married with two kids. Then I turned up and her husband started going out, partying all days of the week, not going home for nights at a time, spending all his money… I ruined her life and although it was the wakeup call she probably needed, I will always feel bad for that.

He moved out of her house for a while, and into his own flat. I think he did that to prove to me that he wanted to be with me but all of my decisions had already been made. That didn’t stop him from having a photo of me in a frame next to his bed and his wife seeing it when she came round to drop the kids off. She was so angry with me – she thought we were friends. I could never stand her if I’m honest, but she didn’t deserve for me to come along and completely wreck her life.

He got fired from his job for stealing. The last time I saw of him on Facebook, he had made his profile picture one of him with blood dripping down his arm after a pretty heavy night of self-harming. I messaged him, called him, and tried everything I could do to try and get hold of him but he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t want to talk to me. Another girl had broken his heart apparently. At least this time, his troubles didn’t have anything to do with me.

His wife, the girl that has just added me on Facebook again, left him not long after I left I guess. They haven’t gotten back together since, and the fact that he got fired for stealing just reiterated the fact he was no good for her. She was with someone else and I don’t know what happened after that – she un-friended me again… Until now.

I always wonder what she wants when she adds me. I wonder this every time she does it – I think we’re on at least the fifth or sixth time now in about as many years. I slept with her husband and she knows this. It doesn’t stop her sending me a cheeky message from time to time, asking how I’m doing and telling me what’s going on with her life. I know this – if one of the girls the Hubby had slept with tried to add me as a friend on Facebook, I’d tell her to get fucked and pretty damn quick. What’s this obsession she has with me? Why can’t she just let me go? Why does she persist in keeping up with this charade of friends and then not-friends and even more than that, why do I play along with it and press the accept button every time?

It’s a strange world we live in. A world where lovers aren’t lovers for very long, and wives of ex-lovers want to be friends with you on social media sites. I miss the easy days when technology didn’t rule relationship and you actually pressed the doorbell rather than sending a text to say “I’m outside”.

What happened to those days? And why does she want to be my friend again?