I can feel her being flushed out of my system.
She conjures up some tears and a clenched fist in the stomach, or the throat, and she is saying:
“No, please, don’t, don’t, don’t leave me here, please, don’t leave me, oh, God, oh, please, stay, stay with me…”
All I can say is no. All I can do is look at her with the scorn with which her eyes used to be tainted more times than not.
“You said you wanted to grow old with me, don’t, please, please, let me stay, let me stay, please…”
Every word of hers is a gulp of drool and tears. The little make-up she was wearing is now smeared all over her face. It’s my own doing, indirectly.
“After all that’s happened, after all you’ve told me, after all you’ve made me change… you are going back to the starting point”. My words feel sharp in my tongue. My throat impedes any further improvements. For some reason, I am about to cry. “Funny. But no. I’m leaving. There’s no place in my heart for you to stay. Everything’s changed. I have changed. You can’t stay, because there’s nowhere to stay”.
A shiver climbs up my back as she begins sobbing, too weak to speak, too fragile to even stand up from the pool of tears she’s left on the ground. That’s how much she’s crying. And when she opens her mouth and lets out a long, long moan, I have to look away. Her diaphragm contracts rapidly, like the revolutions of an engine, and her crying is just more than I can physically bear.
She tries to tug at my trouser’s leg, and grabs my calf and makes me stop my leaving.
“Get off of me”.
I kick free from her. And I cross the door, leaving a decomposed lump of crying flesh behind me.
She broke my heart. Now everything’s changed. It’s easier not to have a heart than have a broken one.