You know when I knew we were going to break up? When Eva said, "Hey, let's watch Shrek." And you didn't even look at me from across the room and give me that smug smile where only the corners of your lips turned up and your eyes slightly glinted.
That was 55 minutes early. And three months too late. I guess that was better than my other breakups. I had never seen any of them coming. Not even the one with Mack from seventh grade.
"Nah. I think we're just gonna head home, E. I've got work tomorrow." You said.
So we went home. I had work the next day too anyway.
Watching the city lights in silence loud enough to hear my heart wanting to escape its cage of cartilage and bone, I thought you'd tap me and say, "Sam, we need to talk."
But the only person that spoke on that ride back home was the vice president addressing the nation on the radio.
You parked outside our apartment. I opened the door and—
"Sam?"
Oh god, please no. Not right now, Isaac. Please.
"Yeah?" I choked. I fucking choked. You'd barely said anything, and yet I was already like a heathen fighting a flood. I was relived it wasn't bright enough for you to see my face. And I was glad it wasn't bright enough for me to see yours either.
"I think I'm gonna sleep at my brother's tonight."
I shattered. You didn't see it. But I did. I broke into a million pieces but held myself together because I didn't want you to see just how vulnerable I was. Which was funny because you'd seen me in my utterly worst moments. But now I wasn't even comfortable with you hearing the quivering in my voice.
"Don't you wanna come in for a moment?" I asked. Gosh, my voice. I sounded like a little girl. Pleading for just five more minutes of you before you cut me off completely.
You didn't look at me. Why didn't you look at me, Isaac? You had your hands on the wheel, and your eyes had suddenly found interest in the geraniums growing on the sidewalk.
"I don't think I should, Sam." Your voice was firm. I got it. You'd made up your mind and nothing could change that.
I nodded, my lips downturned, my eyes watching my fiddling fingers on my lap, the rock in my throat growing bigger and the brims of my eyes stinging. I exhaled. Exhaled what? I hadn't even been breathing.
I looked at you. The soft yellow light from the streetlights outside brushing and outlining your side profile. From the curve of your forehead, the dip of your nose, the margins of your lips, the round of your chin, the crook of your neck. God, you looked beautiful.
And I was in love with you.
Things could've been easier if, like you, I had fallen even a little bit out of love. But all that those four years together had done was increase my fondness for you. You were breaking my heart in a moment when I had never been more passionate for you.
I'm gonna sound like a five year old who's upset at the thought of not getting more ice-cream, Isaac, but...it wasn't fair.
"When will you be back?" I managed to say.
You looked at me, then looked away so fast I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to run into our tiny space and scream into my pillow. Or yours.
No, not yours. The smell of your shampoo still clinging to the fabric would just rip me to shreds.
"I don't—" your voice broke. I should say thanks for that. Thank you for letting me know that it was hard for you, too. Even just a little bit. "I don't know if I will be back, Sam."
"Oh god." The words sounded like a cry and exhale at the same time. The fucking waterworks started and I buried my face in my hands. You reached out to touch me, and I pulled away like your hands were lit matches, and my tears were gasoline. I got out of that car, and did my awkward little walk/run to our apartment.
Our home. Our cozy little space with your art on the walls and my records on the shelves. I realised then that you were always what made it a home. You were the home. A motel room, a friends place, a park bench, or anywhere I'd been for even five minutes felt like home as long as your presence was there.
Now our apartment was just a sanctuary. From you and the rest of the world.
No one could hurt me there.
No one but me. And I'm not blaming you or putting the fault on you. But I took that pain you had given me when we broke up and kept feeding it to myself until it grew. Just days and weeks of lying in bed and torturing myself because I felt I deserved it. Because if you, who loved the most broken things in this world, had tried and failed to love me, maybe I didn't need to be loved, right?
I know now that that's not true, but at the time pain had been so constant it almsot felt secure. It almost felt safe. How could I feel anymore pain when it was all I ever felt anyway?
That night though, I called Mack from seventh grade. The first person to want me and them realise they didn't anymore. I needed to know why.
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This is gonna be one of those fun stories I cam write even amidst the turmoils of life. Which means constant updates.
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Hergodfather