“You wait until we’re on a trip to dump me? That doesn’t make sense, Enzo.”
“I told you I didn’t want to come—”
“Why?”
“I told you I have a lot of shit going on at work.”
“Another fucking excuse. Is there someone else? Just be a man and tell me. This is already a dumpster fire, so more fuel isn’t going to make it burn any hotter.”
He didn’t react, didn’t look at me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you—”
“It’s done,” he said, forcing himself to sound calm. “Let’s just pay for dinner and go home.”
“We’ve already paid for another ten days at the hotel. And the beach clubs—”
“I don’t give a shit about that. I just want to leave.”
“You mean leave me.” It was the first time my voice was truly calm. The quiet acceptance hit me, having stared the truth in the face for months. It didn’t matter what had compromised our relationship, if it was someone else or he really had just fallen out of love with me, if he really had just stopped being attracted to me. I meant nothing to this man. And every time I opened my mouth, every time I asked for the dignity of an explanation, I just irritated him more. Just pushed him further and further away.
I’d rather he tell me he fucked someone else and beg for my forgiveness. I’d rather he tell me he lied to me and promise to earn back my trust. But this indifference, this annoyance, this undeniable urge to leave and never think of me again ... was fucking cruel.
Especially when I didn’t know why. And I would never know why.
We didn’t look at each other as we waited for the waiter to bring us the check.
It was one of the lowest moments of my life, my chest so tight with indescribable pain. The agony didn’t come from the end of the relationship. It came from the way he looked at me—ordidn’tlook at me, because I still remembered how it used to be. Remembered overhearing him talk to his friends and tell them he could see himself marrying me someday. The way he used to talk about us having three kids together. The way he asked me to move in by giving me one of his keys on my birthday. He put me on a pedestal.
And then he yanked it out from underneath me.
Back at the hotel, he packed his things in a hurry. Threw everything inside without discrimination. Threw his razor right on top of his blazer and then piled his shoes on top. His toothbrush was shoved into the side of the bag. An open tube of toothpaste was haphazardly shoved into one of the sleeves, and it would probably ruin a batch of his clothes during the flight.
But he didn’t give a shit.
“You’re going to stay here?” he asked as he zipped up the bag.
I wasn’t going to sit on a plane with him. Wasn’t going to return to the apartment we shared. I didn’t have a plan for my next move, and I’d already sunk some serious cash into this vacation. I wasn’t going to waste that, along with the last two years of my life. “Yes.”
“I’ll pack up your things.” He put his suitcase on the floor and popped the handle so he could roll it out. “Let me know when you’re ready to come get it, and I’ll make sure I’m out.”
“So you just assume you keep the apartment?” I asked spitefully.
He stopped by the door and stared at me. “You moved in with me, so yes.”
What a gentleman. “All right, then.”
He lingered in the doorway, as if he felt he should say something for the first time. Some goodbye words, provide some kind of closure.
I sat on the edge of the bed in my dress and heels. “Just go, Enzo.” I was utterly defeated, somewhat relieved I didn’t have a battle to fight anymore. Didn’t have to wonder what would happen with us because I’d watched the ending credits of the film.
He hesitated for another moment before he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The heavy door shut behind him the instant he was gone.
The curtains to the window were pulled open, and I couldn’t see much in the darkness, just the light from the streetlamps against the leaves of the trees across the street. One of the lamps on the nightstand was on and cast shadows in the corners of the room. I felt the gravity of my loneliness in that moment, but realized I’d been lonely for a long time, long before Enzo had packed his bags and walked out.
I sat there for at least an hour before the tears flooded my eyes. The waves of agony hit me like ocean waves during a full moon. Why had I put up with this for so long? What had I done that made me so undesirable? What could I have possibly done to be so worthless in someone’s eyes?
How could he tell me he loved me ... and then make me feel so unwanted?
