You Should Leave . . .

“Maybe . . . maybe you should leave.” I whispered.

He turned away from the door to look at me. “What?”

I tried to put some confidence into my tone. “Yeah. You should go.”

He scrunched up his eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

“I want you to leave.”

He looked around the room as if he were going to use one of the photographed memories frozen in time surrounding us as a piece of evidence as to why he should stay.

“Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “O-okay. Yeah, sure. I’ll go.” He turned back towards the door and effortlessly walked out.

I held myself as a statue for a few moments. I needed him to be far away.

When it felt like I waited long enough I collapsed onto the couch. My body writhed and choked. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe. This was ridiculous. He should mean nothing to me. He’s just a drop of rain in a storm.

I held myself for a while. Focused on breathing and stopping the tears. I grabbed a tissue and wiped everything at once. My face. My eyes. My nose.

I closed my eyes. Being in silent darkness felt comforting. After reopening them I looked around the room. Everything felt out of place. I felt out of place. Do I even live here?

 

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