#oneaday Day 856: An Ending

The atmosphere in the room was solemn. Silence hung in the air, making it feel cloying, oppressive.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Not after what she’d done.

At least she’d admitted it, he thought to himself. But not without him putting her in a position where she had no choice but to admit it.

He hadn’t expected things to go this way. He used to think that no challenge was insurmountable, that they’d always be able to make it through, together.

But not this time. Not after what she’d done.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and all he could see was the face of the one who had caused this whole mess. Of course, he didn’t know what the Stranger looked like in real life, so the “face” he saw was obscured by shadow and mist. But he knew who it represented.

He felt himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, so he opened his eyes again to try and banish the unwanted intruder into his thoughts.

She gazed at him, her face a picture of abject misery. She really hadn’t meant things to happen this way. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but she knew from the beginning that what she’d been getting into carried that risk. And still she’d done it — why? For the thrill? No, that wasn’t it; it was more a sense of ennui, dissatisfaction, of being stuck in a rut.

She hadn’t felt comfortable raising the subject, so she’d simply started plotting behind his back. Before she realised that every little plan she made without his knowledge was just going to cut deeper, she was in too far. There was no going back.

She didn’t regret doing what she did — the alternative was just sinking into a black mire of mutual resentment and depression, and she knew that he knew this too; he just didn’t want to admit it, or didn’t know how to tackle it. He’d never been good at that sort of thing.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice cracking a little from the pair of them having been sat silently for so long. “I really am.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it like she always used to. Still he didn’t look at her. He seemed to be staring into the middle distance.

His eyes were filling with tears. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear the thought that this was it, that it was over. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. He loved her, even after everything that had happened. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn her way and say it. It was too late. Too late.

She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him towards her. He resisted a little to begin with, but then allowed himself to be pulled in. He buried his head in her shoulder and felt something snap inside his mind. He started to cry, big gulping sobs that he couldn’t control. He’d never felt so utterly wretched in all his life, and here he was, baring his soul and showing himself completely helpless and vulnerable to this woman who had just an hour earlier crushed his dreams for the future.

She held him close, not saying a word as the waves of emotion rocked his whole body. Tears fell from her eyes, but she was silent. She needed to be strong. If she were to give in to this pitiful display before her, then she’d never be able to move on — and neither would he.

His sobs subsided, and she gently pushed him away, trying to get him to look at her. Still he wouldn’t make eye contact. His body was limp, deflated, like all the fight had gone from him.

“You know this is for the best, right?” she said.

Gazing at the wall a few metres to her left, he simply nodded after a short pause. He closed his eyes, and the Stranger was there again, mocking him. I won, the cloudy vision seemed to say. I won.

He felt his mouth tighten as he struggled to hold back the pent-up emotions and once again failed, exploding into tears with a wailing sob that broke his companion’s heart.

He slumped forward off the seat and onto his knees on the floor. He bent over until his head was on the carpet. Down here it felt safe, for some reason. He didn’t want to get up. Everything above the floor was scary and upsetting. The world was out to get him, and he couldn’t cope any more. He just couldn’t take it.

He clenched his fist and slammed it as hard as he could into the floor. The impact boomed and rattled the room. Searing pain shot through his hand and he instantly regretted his outburst of aggression.

She just watched. There was nothing more she could do right now.

She stood.

She walked.

She left.

She didn’t look back. He didn’t even notice she’d gone to begin with. Down on the floor, in his own private little world, he was safe, but the face of the Stranger was threatening to invade. He crawled over to the seat and rested his head on the soft cushion, still warm from where she’d been sitting. The question as to where she had gone entered his mind, then was blown out again as quickly as it had come.

He slammed his fist into the cushion, imagining he was throwing a devastating punch at the face of the Stranger. Another. And another. And another. He roared with rage, yelling obscenities with each strike. It wasn’t making him feel any better. Inside, he knew what he was doing was useless; impotent. But it didn’t matter.

She was gone. And he knew she wasn’t coming back.