He didn't talk to me for the rest of the day, just walked by me as if I didn't even exist. When I called his name he didn't look up and if his eyes ever happened to meet mine, he simply stared right through me
I never thought it would but being ignored by him hurt worse than anything I'd ever experienced.
And finally, right before bed, it got too much.
"I said I was sorry!" I screamed at him. His back was to me, and that's how I found the courage. I wasn't afraid of his back, with its long streaking scars.
"What more do you want?! I'm trying! This is so hard!"
He turned, and his eyes are quietly angry and full of accusations.
"You don't know what hard is," he whispered, and his tone made me feel so ashamed.
"Tell me," I begged, seeking some kind of connection. I wanted to understand him. I wantex to know this man better then he knew himself.
His face closed up and he walked away from me.
"I give up!" I shouted at him, more mad with myself though, frustrated at this losing battle, at this messed up way of living life.
Blindly, childishly, I ran past him, to the front door, flung it open, and disappeared barefoot out into the night.