Ashleigh Anpilova


Illya decides there is more than one way of lying.

An established relationship story.

Written: February 2007. Word count: 600.



Are lies ever really necessary?


Yes, I believe that they are. The lies my partner and I have to tell every day, simply in order to remain alive, to do our jobs, to protect the innocent, are all necessary lies.


We tell them because to tell the truth would be dangerous. We tell them, and we tell them well. Because if we do not, then again we endanger ourselves, other people, even the world.


Sometimes I feel that I tell so many lies, so many necessary lies, that I am no longer certain just what is the truth and what is a lie. At least when it comes to my working life, my professional life.


When it comes to my personal life, I never lie - at least not to other people. Or that is what I believed, until now.


Now I am not so certain.


Now I am wondering whether being silent, omitting to tell someone something, is in fact a lie. If it is, then it too is necessary; just as lying to myself is necessary. It is essential that I do so in order to maintain my sanity; in order not to allow myself to hope, to dream, to believe.


With all the darkness and destruction I have seen in the world throughout my life, you would think that 'hope' and 'dream' would not form part of my character; but both do. Or they would if I allowed them to.


However, I do not. Therefore, I cannot be hurt by expectation. It is all a matter of self-preservation.


Nonetheless recently, over the last few months, I have found it increasingly difficult to lie to myself about my feelings, no matter how essential it is, how necessary it is that I do so. I can no longer deny what, in truth, I have known for over two years now: I am in love with my partner. What we have is more than just the physical joining that happens from time to time.


In fact, if I am honest, I knew how I felt long before he took me to his bed. But I kept silent. I did not admit it to myself. I did not tell him, not even when he looked at me in 'that' way. The way the makes you certain he can see inside you and read your thoughts. The way that says 'tell me, I need to know, I want to know, I have to know'. The way that says 'I have something to tell you too'.


It was necessary for me to keep silent, to lie; for now I know, I am prepared to admit, that is what I have been doing. It was necessary, the time was not right. Our partnership might not have survived my confession.


But now?


Now I am no longer certain.


Now, I look into his eyes, I see him watching me, I feel his touches, both the conscious and the sub-conscious ones, I feel his mouth on mine and . . . And there is something different. It is not merely me projecting my wishes onto him. I sense him wishing to say something to me; but he does not. Maybe he too is waiting, watching. Maybe he is also trying to decide whether the time is right to break the silence, to let go of what for him might also have been a necessary lie.


Silence can be a lie.


Silence has been a lie.


Silence has been a necessary lie.


Now it is time to stop the silence. To stop the lie.


Tonight I shall tell him the truth.



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