Aporia

Prologue

We've been fighting again.
It makes me wonder; What the hell do people mean when they say, 'just be careful'?
What does "be careful" mean? Don't make room for hope?
If you be too careful then you can never experience joy. All for what? In case they break your heart?
Here's the thing... if you are in a situation where they can break your heart, avoiding enjoying yourself in a way that you can give yourself to them completely, isn't going to break your heart any less.
Do they mean don't tell them too much? Don't give them too much? Don't get your hopes up?
We can't control these things. It's an illusion that we can.
Here's what I've learned: The "be careful" advice is complete...
And utter...
Bullshit.
So, we're fighting again, because I didn't listen when they said 'be careful'. Well, until this time. This time I realised he doesn't love me the way that I want to be loved. This time I realised that he will never change. This time I packed my things.
He comes home from work right on time. Strange, since I can smell alcohol on his breath, the second he walks into the guest room, where I'm waiting. It's the room I've been sleeping in the past two nights. He sits beside me on the bed with a nasty look in his eyes.
"I'm surprised you're even here. Haven't found yourself a replacement boyfriend yet?"
I roll my eyes at him with a deep sigh. "I'm not doing this anymore."
"Sorry, I'll stop. I'm just-"
"Drunk, and mean. As you always are when you drink."
"I was going to say hurt, which is why I had to drink. I couldn't deal with this fight sober."
He's blaming it on me again.
"It's more than a fight."
"What do you mean?" He actually looks concerned.
I take a deep breath, extremely nervous about how this is going to go. "I mean I'm breaking up with you."
"What?" He starts to panic, pacing by the bed. He puts his hand to his hair, only then realising we are surrounded by boxes. "You're leaving me? You're moving out? We only just moved in!"
He's yelling.
"Don't yell at me."
"No, please don't Lexi. Just..." He kisses me. I let him. It's a habit.
He tries to deepen the kiss, so I pull away.
"I'm sorry. I know it's awful timing, but I'm going back to my parents' house. I've been trying to work out how to do this, what to say, but we are breaking up." My palms are sweating, so I rub them on the comforter.
"We've been fighting for weeks. I guess there is no use trying to talk you out of this?" He has started to cry, but I can see the tension in his jaw. He's angry.
"I'm already packed." I nod in agreement.
"In that case," His lips crash against mine again. It doesn't feel the same as it used to. It feels like a chore, somehow. I let him kiss me anyway, and as his hands start to glide over me, pushing me back against the bed, I continue to let him.
One last time.
Our pants are off and he's pushing into me, but I still don't feel how it's supposed to feel. He starts his rhythm, and it feels so odd to be having sex while crying.
He changes suddenly, and I wince. "That hurts." He continues.
"You're hurting me." He does it again.
"Stop!" I push him off me, and he looks upset.
I remember the last time he hurt me like this. He was drunk then, too. He caused me to bleed, and my leg was bruised where he held it. When I asked him to stop, he was so upset. He cried when he saw me cleaning the blood. I thought it was because he was sad that he hurt me, but it wasn't.
He was mad. He cries when he's angry. I told him I was sorry, that I had to stop. That I was going to shower, and he could finish himself if he wanted to. I was so stupid, actually feeling bad for him. I felt guilty, but it wasn't my fault.
When I got out of the shower, he was bleeding. I was concerned, rushing to his side.
"I hurt you, so I have to hurt."
He told me it was my fault he cut himself. He told me I made him sad.
I remember this, and it makes me terrified, and I cry harder.
He stands without looking at me, doing up his fly.
He turns to walk out, but causes me to gasp, kicking one of my boxes as he exits.
"But you were mine!"