I walk a few steps, and my knees give out. I sink onto the thin rug, and a raw sound tears out of my throat. My chest caves inward, and air refuses to come when I need it.
How could he leave me?
I need a knife.
The block of cutlery sits on the countertop, mocking me, but I can't move. And I need to feel physical pain to counter the rip I feel in my heart. So I bury my nails into my thigh and move them back and forth until the skin breaks and red blood appears.
It gives me no relief. So I continue scratching and opening more spots, trying to mask my emotions, and utterly failing. Pressure builds behind my eyes and spills over, hot and unstoppable, leaving my face wet and burning while the door stays closed, more blood pops out, and the house swallows me whole.
Time doesn't seem to move, but it might be, and I'm just not registering it. My heart races so fast, it shoots with pain, my breath coming out faster in shorter spouts.
I press my palm flat against my sternum like I can hold my heart in place if I push hard enough. It doesn't help. The pressure just keeps building, sharp and relentless.
He said he loved me.
The words replay, clear and exact, and my mouth opens on a sound that scrapes out of me before I can stop it. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head hard.
He wouldn't say that and leave.
He wouldn't say that and mean goodbye.
"This isn't happening," I whisper to the empty room.
My voice sounds wrong, thin and cracked, and hearing it makes my throat burn. I drag my knees closer to my chest and wrap my arms tight around my bloody legs.
The sound of the heater kicking on pierces through the room, and my skin prickles. I suddenly realize how naked and exposed I am, but theawareness doesn't get me to move. It only adds another layer to the weight pressing over me.
I look toward the hallway, half expecting him to appear there instead, like I imagined the whole thing. The bedroom doorway stays empty. The silence stretches.
My breathing stutters, and I press my forehead into my knees.
Heat gathers behind my eyes, and a fresh wave of tears spills over, sliding down my face and dripping onto my legs. White grows on my knuckles from how tight I'm squeezing them.
I close my eyes, sobbing, "You can't just leave."
The words echo faintly, and the lack of an answer makes another wound open inside my chest. A sob tears loose, loud and ugly, ripping through me before I can swallow it back. Another follows, then another, each one stealing more air until my lungs burn.
I rock forward and back, unable to still. The movement makes my head spin, and I clamp my jaw shut, breathing through my nose until the dizziness eases. My heart keeps racing, mimicking what I imagine it would feel like to have a heart attack.
I push myself upright and glance around, searching for something solid to anchor to. The front door comes back into view, and anger flares hot and sudden. My hand slaps the floor beside me, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"You don't get to decide this alone," I say, louder now.
The words hang there, unanswered. I laugh, a short, broken sound that cuts off just as fast. My shoulders start to shake, and I bend forward again, nails digging into my arms as the emotion crashes back over me.
Images crowd my head without order. His mouth at my ear. His hands on my hips. The way he said my name like it belonged to him. Thememory of it tightens low in my body, confusing and cruel, and I suck in a breath that turns into another sob.
I stay on the floor as time slips past without shape. Light shifts across the room, creeping along the wall and onto the rug. My muscles ache from holding myself so tight, but every attempt to stand dies before it starts, even though the knives gleam not far away, beckoning me to use them. Yet my legs refuse to cooperate, heavy and useless.
Rawness hits my throat from crying, each swallow sharper than the one before. My nose clogs, eyes swell larger, but the tears keep coming, sliding down in steady tracks.
I stare at the floor, at a small mark in the rug I've never noticed before, and fixate on it because thinking about anything else hurts worse.
I listen for sounds outside, for a car pulling up, for footsteps on the porch. Each distant noise makes my head lift, hope spiking so fast it makes me dizzy. It's all cruel. Every sound is followed by nothing, and the drop afterward is brutal.
"He said he loved me," I murmur again, quieter this time.
The words sound smaller now, fragile, like they might break if I push them too hard. My hands unclench at last, falling uselessly into my lap. My arms tremble from the release, and I lie on my side, curled like a baby.
