"I'm so sorry... I never meant for this to happen... and I tried, I really did. But it was just too much, the pressure, the looks I keep getting when I walk down our block."
"Shhhh honey, what's wrong?"</i>
He jerked away from her; almost violently that it caused her to unconsciously put some space between them.
"We were supposed to know how each other felt. We were supposed to know if something was bothering one of us... how could you ask me that now?"
He looked defeated, almost crushed. His face looked dejected while his eyes were bloodshot, and at the same time, accusing.
"Alex, please, tell me what's wrong. I don't understand you. What are you saying?"
She started crying, confused and hurt at the ways his eyes were looking at her.
"I can't stay here anymore. I tried, but I can't keep pretending. I love you, that hasn't changed but I can't live here and be happy... I thought I was, you know? I thought that I could teach a little while trying to finish my novel... but..."
"So you're saying that you're? you?re leaving me?"
He answered so softly that she had to strain her ears to hear the word.
She moaned, a sound of awful pain that came from deep within her. She stood up, teetering and unsteady, made her way back to their room and locked the door. Crossing the small space towards their bed was painstaking. Every step - agonizing.
She buried herself in their pillows, smelled the scent of their happiness, and thought how strangely detached it was from the memory of recent lovemaking.
She awoke the next day, mind hazy from last night's confusion. Slowly she made her way to the bedroom door and opened it, her heart filled with dread and frustration.
It was quiet; the windows were already open, sunlight streaming through the gaps in the curtains. It was like any ordinary day, only she knew, no felt that it wasn?t. Something different was present in the air, something menacing... something dark.
Her eyes searched the whole living room, he wasn't on the couch, and he wasn't in the kitchen either. Then her eyes fell on the lava lamp that they bought from a flea market. There was a post-it attached to the base, stark yellow against the fading silver.
With fearful apprehension she approached, her hands unwilling to pluck the note. Then she read what was written on it and promptly fainted to the floor.
She stopped feeling that day. Stopped hoping, stopped caring.
She sold the house.
The couple that bought it had to have the walls repainted. Flecks of red oily liquid and silver paint marred the light blue surface. And tiny shards of glass littered the floor.