John and I had a screaming argument on the journey here. He knows his colleagues hates me, the feeling is mutual, but he still insists on my joining him for his bosses birthday party this evening. I pleaded with him to let me excuse myself with a migraine. I do suffer with them, typically just not tonight, god I wish I could learn to bring them on somehow.

We step out the car in silence and walk up the driveway to the front door, music and laughter can be heard through the open windows. John rings the doorbell and while we wait for it to be opened he places his arm around my shoulders, but as soon as the door is opened and he’s greeted by his oldest friend, he walks into the crowd leaving me standing uncomfortably on the doorstep.

I could just leave. He’d never know and when he’s finally realised it would be too late. I know it’s not worth the fight later though. He loves having his “perfect little wife” following him around adoringly. It makes him feel important.

I step into the hall, closing the door behind me. No one even glances at me. I shiver, even though it’s way to stuffy in here. Too many people crowded in, causing condensation on the kitchen windows, I notice, as I head in there to get myself a drink. I pour myself a large vodka, knowing it’s the only way I’ll get through this long, awful night of pretense.

Finally, John comes and finds me again. Somehow the only thing worse than standing alone is having him next to me. He gives my hand a squeeze, just a bit too tight, so my rings dig into my fingers painfully. He smiles angelically at me, whilst having an apparently hilarious conversation with some colleagues of his, who haven’t been introduced; almost daring me to whimper at the pain in my hands. I won’t give him the satisfaction, I don’t even give myself away by letting the fake smile plastered on my face drop.

He loves this, a sick game of pretense, pushing me to crack but I know I’m not allowed to break my role. It’s not worth it when we return to the privacy of our own home. He continues his conversation and when the others get drawn in by another nearby group, John drops my hand in distaste. Every touch is just for show, keeping me close, fooling everyone into believing we’re simply inseparable.

At one stage, many drinks into the night, John pulls me close for a kiss, deep and almost passionate, he bits down firmly on my bottom lip, making me wince, at last, my eyes brim with tears and I go to brush them away quickly, before anyone notices. But John gets there first, brushing them away, tenderly to the untrained eye. I hear the couple behind us, commenting “oh, how cute are they together?” with the other replying “they really are the perfect couple”.