Proverb

Hell found me.

I don’t want her to leave me, but I know she is (any second now), and that stabs me like a thousand-and-one pins and needles. This was what hell feels like, surely. Surely.

I’m perched on an office chair, one of those cushioned ones that spins around. She likes that sort. I remember buying the chair with her. She affectionately named our chair ‘Jackie.’ I love her for that, and I hate her for it at the same time. I love and hate everything she’s done that makes her more and more entwined within my heart, and more and more impossible to rip out.

I don’t want her gone. I want her to stay with me, here, forever.

She tosses her long, black hair, and smiles at me over her shoulder. I love her smile, even as she prepares to leave me. “Libby, I said I was sorry,” she tells me, returning to shoving things untidily into her suitcase.

“I know you did,” I say, idly playing with my hair. I can’t look at her. I can’t, but I do it anyway. “It’s just not exactly the proverbial feel-better kiss.”

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” she groans, rolling her eyes. She’s rapidly losing her patience with me. She wants me to accept this, and I just can’t.

“You could say that you’ve changed your mind, and you’re staying,” I suggest hopefully.

She sighs. “That would be a lie. I don’t like to lie to you.”

“You do it anyway,” I tell her. “After all, isn’t that what these past few months have been?”

“That was different.”

“Bull.” I love her. I love her, I love her, I love her. Dear God, let me be able to tell her what I’ve been wanting to tell her all this time. I stand up, stubbornly meeting her gaze. “You’re leaving me for a guy.” I spit the word out, as though it’s poison.

She stiffens visibly. “I told you that this isn’t right, you and me. I’m a girl. You’re a girl. I just…” She sighs again. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t have a problem with it before him,” I say coldly.

She avoids my gaze, nervously twisting her favorite ring around her pointer finger. She always does that when she was nervous. I’ve come to love it. “I…” she starts softly.

“Yes?” I prompt.

“Well… I mean… Libby, I’m really, really sorry, but… I don’t know… I mean it says in the Bible… You know what it says.”

I know what it says. “Do not lie with a male as you would a woman, since this is a disgusting perversion.” It’s in Leviticus. My parents had showed it to me a year prior. I pointed out that it was banning me from having sex with a man. They gave me a month to cure myself. I didn’t. They kicked me out. I know what it says.

“I know what it says,” I whisper. She smiles, relieved, as though my knowledge of the passage has somehow made me okay with the fact that she was leaving me for a man.

“Libby, I’m through with defying the Bible. I want to go to back to church with my head held high, arm in arm with a nice man.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath, and glare at her. “You want to go? Go,” I say icily. “Like I care. I’m not taking you back, you know.”

“I…” she says hesitantly. “I just hope you find happiness.”

“Screw you,” I mutter.

She leaves. Not another word, just leaves. The door opens and closes. I take a long drag from my cigarette and flick the TV on. People died today. What else is new? Idly, I play with my lighter as I pretend to pay attention to the TV and pretend to forget all about my ex.

The one who I love, I love, I love… the one who left for what she hopes is salvation, but could just be a version of hell that isn’t quite so warm.