She accepted his numerous infidelities, as so much water under the bridge. They were as much a part of who he was, and what he did, as the music that he played. It came with the territory, and she knew that going into it.
She resolved herself to his addictions. Even after it became evident that the drugs would always be his first love- and she forever his mistress. She assumed the roles of caretaker and enabler as seamlessly and with as much fervor as she ever put into being his lover.
But when he died on the road, in the bed of a strange woman, with a needle still in his arm- the ache of betrayal became more than she could bare.
In farewell she penned simply, “It should have been me.”
Written in response to Crimson’s Creative Challenge #17