Masterpiece

Chapter 19

You leave tomorrow, idiot. One more day and you still haven't told him, my mind mocked. It waved a disapproving finger at my heart who so stupidly chose to withhold the news.

I have to tell him. I have to. I said this everyday to myself. I said it even after the funeral yesterday and yet and still, my tongue trips over the words.

"I'm bored. Let's do something," John says playing with my hair, letting it twirl beneath his fingers. He attempts to braid it, but fails as my hair flails wildly, making it look like a bird was making itself home in my head.

"I am so glad you're not a beautician, because this is terrible," I say gawking at my hair from a mirror.

He cheeses. "I think it looks pretty good. Definitely better than anything I've ever done. Just ask Sophie."

He wraps his arms around my waist from behind. "Come on. I'm tired of being in this house."

"Aww. And here I thought you were enjoying my company," I say playfully pushing him away and crossing my arms.

He catches one of my arms in his grasp and pulls me close. "Oh, believe me,
I am." His lips find mine.

It's getting harder and harder to endure this good of a feeling. The feeling of his lips on my lips. This feeling won't last long. In twenty four hours this feeling will be a memory. But who knows? Maybe I'll get to take a trip down memory lane.

                            ^^^

Because of my extensive laziness, it took some convincing to get me to leave the house. We both agree on frozen yogurt, which is good because I could totally go for something sweet.

The ice cream pleases my taste buds as I whirl it around my tongue. My shoes crunch green leaves beneath my feet.

"Ok, it's official. Central Park has the best view of the sunset ever," I say gazing at the sky.

I look to my right and see a pair of bluish green eyes staring at me.

"What?" I ask.
"You're adorable when you're happy."

Well take a good look buddy, because you're not going to see this face ever again, my brain teases again watching while my heart squirms under the guilt.

"John?"
"Yes, Ramona?"
"I'm leaving."

Those mysterious eyes looked me over. The eyes that once were full of joy, sarcasm, and humor were now grim, serious. Frightening. 

"What?" he asks, his light eyes growing even more grim and more frightening.

"I'm leaving New York. Tomorrow." I say.

"You're leaving New York tomorrow," he repeats. "This obviously took some deciphering a while back. When were you going to tell me?" This time his eyes didn't look grim or scary. I'd rather pick either of those than the look that he'd given me right then.

He looked hurt. Betrayed.

"All this time you lead me to believe you were here to stay. That you weren't going anywhere anytime soon."

"No, no. It's not like that at all. I- I decided last week, but I just didn't know how to tell you," I say. It comes out more like a whimper than a normal sentence. 

John puts his hands behind his head, like he's being arrested and blows out a huge puff of air. We stand like that for hours, it seemed, as the sun went down on our conflict. I can't help but picture the sun trying to hurry down the hills so it wouldn't have to witness the moment that's happening to this poor, unfortunate couple.

"John, I-" Before I could finish my sentence he tosses car keys my way.

I catch them. "Take the car home," he says.

"What?"
"Take. The car. Home," he says it louder and spaces the words out like I'm a two year old. 
"I'm going for a walk. I'll catch you soon. Unless you want to take the plane now. Put me out of my misery that way." When he said that my chest ached. The way he said it. The icy tone in his words.

"Put me out of my misery that way." What he said echoes through my mind. He'd rather me leave now than say goodbye later.

My eyes are shielded with tears that have not yet fallen. "I-"

"See you at home," he says and stalks away into the night. 

What have you done? my brain mocks once more.