I closed my eyes and tried to remember what it was like to feel something like heat, want, the fluttering in my stomach when I was excited…anything that would make me enjoy this at least a little bit, but it was gone.
His voice was soft as he whispered the kind of things a girl would melt for. “You’re so beautiful, Elena…always.” But I wasn’t that girl.
I smiled because that was what he needed from me. After all, he was good and kind, and he’d never understand why I couldn’t meet him halfway anymore. I kissed him back, let him take control because it was something he enjoyed. I let him move against me; I did all the things I was supposed to do. But my mind wasn’t here; it was somewhere cold and quiet, somewhere that didn’t ask anything of me.
When it was over, he rested gently beside me, tracing lazy shapes on my shoulder. “You okay?” he asked, his voice drowsy with something that felt like affection.
“I’m fine,” I replied, my reflexes kicking in. I took in a sharp breath, bracing myself.
The silence between us stretched, and finally, he sighed. It was the kind of sound that belonged to people still trying, pushing past worry and pride, making sure the person they liked was actually fine. “You’ve been distant lately. Work stress?”
I almost laughed. Work stress? If only it were that simple. If only my life could be this fucked up by just work stress. If only going to work every day could cause this kind of emptiness,this regret…this guilt. Then maybe I would just quit and there…problem solved. But the voice in my head laughed at me, hard and mocking, because she knew that there was only one way to solve the problem. It was the one way I was finally embracing.
“Maybe, it could be that,” I lied through my teeth. He would never understand, and even if he tried to, he was too good for whatever darkness lived inside me.
He sat up a little, knitting his brows together in concern; real, genuine concern. “What else is it? You’ve barely looked at me all night, Lena. Did I do something?”
The only thing he did was think someone like me had a chance, think that these casual fucks we had could be something more. He was too good for this…for me.
I took my time sitting up, pulling the blanket closer around me. I didn’t look at him when I said, “I think I want to end this.”
The words didn’t shake, or sound foreign, but I wish it didn’t sound so detached. It was as if someone else had borrowed my voice and cut right through him. I wanted it to sound like something that hurt me, ‘cause even though it didn’t, I wanted him to know I was grateful for whatever this was. That the ten to twenty five minutes of sex made me forget, and for that, I really was grateful.
He blinked, very confused, searching my face for a trace of a joke. “What?” He gave a short, nervous laugh. “End what?”
“This,” I said simply, gesturing at the two of us, the bed, the pretense. “Us.”
His laugh faded instantly. “You’re serious?” Then the hurt showed, and the look in his eyes almost mirrored mine, and…and…and that broke me even more.
“I am,” I continued. I had to…I had to do this. I had to save him.
“Why?” The word cracked. “I mean…we’re fine, aren’t we? We barely argue. I thought you were happy.” he said.
Happy?I knew what the word meant, but I couldn’t remember how it felt, so I just looked at him…really looked. He was still beautiful in the soft apartment light, all warmth and softness, and everything a good man should be. But good wasn’t enough to help me. Nothing was. Not anymore.
I traced patterns on his sheets, wondering what it’d be like to just…stop existing. To stop waking up and doing all this over and over again.
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I admitted quietly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I just…I don’t feel it anymore, and it’s not fair to keep pretending.”
He stared at me like I’d just confessed to something cruel, and maybe I had.
“Elena, please,” he pleaded, his voice breaking around my name. “Don’t do this now. It’s Christmas in a week, we were supposed to…”
“I know.” My voice was calm. Too calm. “I’m sorry, I really am, and I hope you don’t hate me for too long.” I sighed. I didn’t want him to hate me. If I wasn’t planning to do what I was planning to do, then maybe he could. But I knew what it felt like to hate the dead, and I didn’t want him to feel like that.
The silence almost killed me, but that was not the plan. So, with nothing else to say, I got up, found my clothes, and dressed slowly while he sat there in disbelief. The apartment smelled like cinnamon candles and wine, and the faint sound of carolers drifted in from the street below. It was all too soft, too warm, and too alive.
“I…” he stopped me as I grabbed the doorknob. “I don’t hate you,” he said, and even through the barely lit room, I could see him smile, so warmly I could almost feel it.
“David…” I whispered, unsure of what to say or do. As he held me, I almost cried for help, told him everything, and what I was going to do. I…almost…
“Merry Christmas and happy birthday, in advance, Elena,” he whispered, kissing my cheek.
“You too.” With that, I left, stepping out into the cold; my soon-to-be home.
The December air had gotten worse lately; it was biting, lonely, and honest. I stood there on the curb, watching my breath fog into the night. For a moment, I thought about how easy it would be to disappear into the quiet and let the snow swallow me whole.
But it didn’t, why? Because that was my job. So, I just pulled my coat tighter and started walking. The chill slipped beneath my skin, and I welcomed it. Because soon, this…this cold, this emptiness, would be all I’ll know.
