“you don’t get me! YOU JUST DON’T GET ME!” she exhaled with scorn. “you never have and you never will. your own fucked view of the world prevents you from acknowledging me, truly seeing who I am and how unhappy I’ve been! ohhhh, aaaw aw aw you piece of shit…”, gasping for more air to refill her contempt, “I have tried and tried with you, I wanted us to work more than i wanted happiness for myself!”. He knew at this point that he had lost her, that no amount of his usual indignation coupled with self-pity could console her. He’d seen her break down before, but never completely sever from their designated zone behavioral recognition. out of nausea and sand paper throat she gurgled up her goodbye, “please leave me, please never talk to me again”. her chest was heaving so heavily it was impossible to notice the anxious shaking her body had involuntarily adopted. the floodgates had been cracked for sometime now as black veins of liquid pain formed a collar on her favorite shirt of his. there was nothing he could do as he’d already done too much. In a state of lucid self-reflection, he contemplated the force of emotion that had just engulfed him. He was force-fed the verified accusations of self which really only she could have done. But before he could even swallow, the catalyst of catharsis had already forged it’s path straight through his usual defense mechanisms. blind sided by what had always been right in front of him, a solemn sense of responsibility grew in his gut. unlike tactile pain, this emotion spread like a morning stretch but with the lingered itch of a scabbing knee scrap. bewildered and left with nothing much else to do, he mustered strength enough to stumble backwards towards the door. If given enough time to contemplate the action, he’d wonder if it was more difficult looking back onto her or turning around to the open the door. of course he did not cry, but he knew as well as she that he had long ago forfeited such outward displays “weakness”. Again, given the time, he might have tried.
After he peacefully closed the door behind him, she collapsed into a feverish curled ball of utter melancholy. her cries could have reached the end of voids or swayed the outcomes of war. but her remorse was love. that bitch of a word, the false prophecy of escape and solace. she wasn’t one to expunge her emotions through physicality, to trade feelings for the things. In truth, they were all she had ownership of. left alone with them, it would be a years before she’d stand again. despite her miniscule role in the world, their relationship inverted suddenly, leaving her the foundation on which it balanced.