Mar. 9th, 2017

xlovebecomesher: (Bats)

"Stay," he whispers to her as she crawls out of bed to get ready for the morning. She searches for her clothes in the darkness; only the dim light of twilight coming through the window to guide her movements. "We still have a couple of hours yet."

"You know I can't," she whispers back as she tries discreetly to pull up her jeans without jumping. They have this conversation every time and the conversation is always the same: he asks her to stay, she tells him she can't, and the next night they're back in each others arms forgetting about the outside world.

"Why?" He pulls himself up into a sitting position, brushing his sleep-touseled hair out of his eyes. He wants more; he wants her. Not just for stolen moments but forever.

"You know why," she fumbles with her bra hook.

"The children," they both murmer at the same time. He makes his way over to where she's sitting by the window searching for her socks.

"You know I would take care of you and the children. I love you and I love them. I will protect you now and always. You have nothing to be afraid of." Leave him and be with me, he thought, the words left unspoken.

"I know you would." She grabs her shirt, throwing it over her head before combing her fingers through her hair. He watches those fingers, wishing it was him touching her, but always at this hour she is so far away from him.

"It's me or him." The words sound harsh in the quiet morning. He wishes he could take them back; he doesn't mean them. Yet as the words are out, he finds himself holding his breath. She's been promising him that she'll leave. They'll take the children and they'll run away and explore the world. Every time he pushes, she has an excuse of why she can't: the children are too young, she doesn't want to hurt him, what would her friends and family think? He realizes he has finally reached his breaking point.

"Don't say that," she pleads.

"What are you so scared of?" he asks her.

She's quiet for a moment. "You know, if we never get together then you can't leave me like I want to leave him so desperately. Why can't we keep going like this? You know I love you. Why isn't that enough?"

"You're scared." He never thought that she would be scared.  She doesn't say a word. "I don't believe it." They're both quiet, watching each other warily. He needs to draw a line. He can't take this anymore.

"It's me or him," he repeats again. He surprises himself that he's not backing down.  "I can't go on doing this. I need you too much. I love you too much." He pulls her over to him and wraps his arms around her. "You know you don't love him anymore." She shakes her head silently agreeing with him. "He ignores you, ignores the children. He works all the time and when he's not, you know he's with his secretary. You can lie to everyone else that he's not with her, pretend that you're happy, but don't lie to me. He's not taking care of you. You know I'll never leave you. Let me love you and be there for you.  Let's see the world like we said. Vancouver? Gibralter? Seychelles? Fiji? Say the word and we're gone. I love you with all that I am and with all that I'll be. He'll never love you or your children like I will." Pick me, he begs soundlessly. She has to choose him; he wasn't sure what he was going to do without her.

She feels the tears begin to fall but she doesn't wipe them away; she knows her choice as painful as it is. Her duty. Leaning over, she kisses him once on each cheek before softly kissing his lips and standing up. She grabs her purse and begins walking to the door. "I love you too. Always."  She walks out, climbing slowly down the stairs before making her way out to her car.

"Fuck!" he screams in the silent room, punching the wall. He somehow misses and he hears the window shattering, the sound echoing hollowly in his ear. She didn't choose him. In whatever scenario he plays out in his head of his future, it's always her besides him. Never this.

He stumbled to his bed, mindful of the broken glass and bleeding hand. He should go take care of his hand, a rational part of him thinks, but nothing seems to matter at the moment. He's broken inside just like his window; what difference does his hand make?

The only thing that matters as the sunlight begins pouring into the room, the thought repeating endlessly in his mind: she didn't choose him.

And as he lies in bed facing the new day, he asks himself: who was he without her?

He's not sure if he'll like the answer.

March 2017

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