I’m alone tonight and I have not stopped crying since he left. The big lights are all closed, but the walls are lit with the pictures we chose together. He is smiling in each one, and so am I. My heart feels torn from my chest and all I want is to be held by him, but that could never happen again.
I hold his phone in my hand. In his photo gallery, pictures of her come between pictures of him and I. Her naked body, saved a hundred times, fills up the screen, and I can’t help thinking she’s everything I wish I was, prettier, smaller, younger. Her blonde hair and blue eyes are a stark contrast to the pictures of me. I wish I never tried the passcode on his phone. She lies naked, the sun making her glow, and I see his hand touching her waist. I delete the picture, as though deleting it could undo it from ever having happened.
“I love you,” “You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever met,” “Let’s meet,” “I miss you already,” “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” It hurts my heart to read that he’s written these things to a girl that’s not me, and hurts all the more that he’s said these things to me before. Her words hurt me even more. “I’m in bed thinking of you,” “I’m playing to the thought of you,” “I miss you so much,” “Come over again,” “Let’s do that thing we tried last time.” She has seduced him and the worst of it is that she doesn’t know that she’s taking him from me.
I think of how aloof he was on our first date, I was the one who wanted him. I think of how I fell in love on our third date, and how he told me that there was someone else and he wasn’t sure who to pick. I think of how his mother always talked me up, I knew she pushed him to marry me, but I made myself believe that it was out of love. I think of when he and I had just gotten married, how much he loved me and loved to take care of me. I think of the flowers he got me every day for a month after our honeymoon. He was the perfect husband. The worst of it is that I wish I could blame him but I know that he tried to love me.
It was his mother who wanted us to work out more than anyone. I was the sweet girl who grew up next door, the girl who came from a good family, who went to a good school and got a good degree. I was the hard working girl, who was modest, who prayed, who used to bring over pies and cakes at every event with her mother. After college, I was still next door in my parent’s house, a manager at a prestigious firm. I wish I can go back to that time.
I go far back enough in his pictures that I find our wedding pictures. The smiles on our faces were so wide. Alongside our wedding pictures, I see the girl again, her hair brown this time and her blue eyes so bright. I close the phone then, feeling a sob shake through my body in the coldness of the living room.
I feel the beginning of grief take over me. This is the end of everything we’ve built up. I hate him so much in this instance, but then I remember why I can’t blame him. He said it from the start, and I still tried to make him love me. I can’t blame him no matter how much I wish I could. I lock his phone. I’m sitting alone under the big lights, looking around at all of the pictures of us. I kick the one closest to me off of thee coffee table, hear the glass break and turn my face away to sob into the couch.
My bags all sit on the living room floor, my face is red and I am waiting for my sister to arrive so she can pick me up. All I told her was that I needed a ride. I have not told her why yet. His phone is still in my hand. I’ve had a hard time letting go of it.
I suddenly hear the buzz of a notification getting through. “I’m waiting for you in my bed. Where are you?” she writes, a picture attached, waiting to be opened. I stand there frozen seeing the message, when I hear the lock suddenly turn.
He walks in through the door, but stops half way when he sees my face. His blue eyes take in the bags around the room, my red face and finally his phone in my hand.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice hesitant.
I look at him in silence, his nice shirt and tie, the black blazer on his shoulders. He’s dressed like he does when we go out on our dates. “To my sister’s.”
“And why is that?”
I hand him his phone, but I know he already knows. “You didn’t bother muting her so I wouldn’t see.”
“Baby, let’s not make any rash decisions, we can talk through this,” he says, throwing the phone on the couch. He takes the bags closest to him and closes the door. “We’ll talk through this.”
“Nothing to talk about,” I say, taking the bags away from him.
“Baby, you know that I want you. I don’t want anyone else.”
“Will you stop seeing her?” I ask. He stares at me and pauses. He takes the bags from me again.
“Yes. Of course.”
“I don’t believe you. Now give me my bags back,” I say, oddly calm and in control. My heart hurts in my chest.
“Look. I want you and I will do anything for you,” he says.
“Will you stop seeing her?”
“I can’t lose you, please,” he says, and his voice finally breaks. Tears fall from his eyes. “Please, baby, I will do whatever it takes, but I can’t lose you.”
“Will you stop seeing her?” I say, my voice firm but my eyes well up at seeing him so weak. He falls to his knees, and hides his face in my legs, without saying anything. “I see.”
I feel sobs wrack through my body. I bring my hand up, about to touch his hair, thinking of all of the times we were in this position. I don’t touch him though. I put my hand back down.
“You deserve to be happy,” I say, thinking of when he told me he was in love with someone, and couldn’t choose between me and her, thinking of how he gave me everything I wanted, but he held himself back.
“You make me happy.”
“I can’t be the second option.”
“But I chose you.”
“I can’t be one of two options, “ I say firmly.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say. He goes quiet but I feel his tears on my skin. We stand there that way, both knowing I’m leaving and both knowing where he will be once I’m gone. I can’t help but cry, feeling like I’ve lost the one thing that ever mattered. I want to undo everything, let him go out with her as long as I got to keep him at nights, but I know I’m being silly. I let myself cry as I finally touch his hair again, the last time that I ever will.
It is quiet like that until my sister calls, and he struggles to let go of my legs. “I don’t want to see you leave,” he finally says, looking up at me.
“And I don’t want to think of you with her.” He says nothing to that, lets me take my bags, take my phone and open the door. He tries to grab me and kiss me but I don’t let him. I push him away and walk out. “Goodbye.”
My heart is heavy as I leave, thinking if I let him kiss me, would everything have gone back to normal? Did I do the wrong thing by leaving? Was there something I could’ve given him to make him want me? Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life?
I never do get to find out. He remains a terrible bruise in my chest, aching every night and everytime I’m reminded of him. The bruise gets darker and darker and it almost gets to the point that I think it will never turn yellow.
A/N
Thank you for reading! I wrote this with a heavy heart thinking of someone. I hope you enjoyed reading this however. I wrote it after sessions at the gym and between reading Virginia Woolf’s diary entries.
I hope to write a lot more and maybe work on another poetry collection next, another one of those short Instagram collection that is designed and can only be found on my Instagram as I have made before. I’m also thinking of going live soon, maybe do some poetry reading and just hanging out in general. I might also do some baking on stream because I love to bake.
Please don’t forget to like, comment and follow! I write a lot of short stories and post every Wednesday 3pm EST.
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