Figuring Shit Out

The Breakup

It was almost comical. She knew he was saying Important Things, exposing the deepest intricacies of his heart and accusing her of destroying the little bit of trust he had regained with her since his last failed relationship, and yet all she could think about was the mascara on her eyelashes.

She never wore makeup, unless it was for a dance or she agreed upon a makeover really really late at night.  But for some reason today, the day she agreed to meet with her boyfriend to discuss Important Things, she had put some on.

And now it was the sole focus of her concentration. Part of her feared her boyfriend would notice the difference and somehow like her even less for it; part of her feared her boyfriend would notice the difference and somehow like her even more for it. It was all completely irrational, all completely futile, and yet it kept her from looking at him for prolonged periods of time in fear of being found out.

Yes,  it was almost comical. But not quiet. 

"I'm sorry." 

It slipped out. She had interrupted his tirade and she knew how phony it sounded and how little it would do to console the boy sitting beside her. But what else was there to say in the situation? There was nothing to negate. She had been a coward for trying to break up over text. She had promised him she would bring up any problems she had with the relationships. She had said she wanted to keep trying.

And despite everything, he was still being nice. He hadn't even brought up the fact that Homecoming was in two days. 

She wanted him to know that she appreciated the last four months. That her memories of the summer were dominated by the boardgames they played and the music they listened to and their kissing and their hand holding and their talks. So she found herself asking for a second chance, a second chance she didn't really want but which she knew he needed to hear.

And, just as she anticipated, he told her it was too late.

The two of them stared out the front window of his car for a while. They were both quite. 

He didn't want her to see his tears, and she didn't want him to see the mascara now weaving down her cheeks.