The blood was still trickling out of my mouth when he came into the bathroom and sat on the floor next to me. I stared at him blatantly, tired of ignoring the issues that had arisen around us.

He did not return my boldness. His eyes held a fascination with the floor, even as he sat barely a foot away from where I was. I waited, almost patiently for him to talk, and diverted myself by getting up to rinse my mouth with sink water before sitting back down to let the blood to finish oozing up.

The blood flow dripped down to nothing and I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth one more time. Just to give him more time, I brushed my teeth, and then used mouthwash. It burned at the back of my raw throat, but it felt good. Seeing that he wasn’t ready to talk yet, I pulled a hairbrush out and ran it through my messy tresses, trying to smooth out the knots with shaking hands. And then I could stand it no more.

I dropped the hairbrush and it clattered noisily into the sink. I spun on my heel and found him staring up at me, no doubt startled by the sudden clamor. “Eleanor…” he began. As if he had not had time to prepare a speech. As if he had not prepared a speech a thousand times before, with every single time he hurt me.

Before I could commence to yell at him, no doubt hurting my voice and angering him once more, he finished his comment. “It’s over,” he told me slowly.

I could have laughed. I could have cried. I could have screamed in delight. Instead I settled for just smiling. “I know,” I told him truthfully. I had known for a very long time. I had just been too afraid to say so.

“But….” He trailed off, but the question he was trying to ask hung heavy in the air.

“I’ve been afraid of you. It’s not to say that I never loved you, or rather that I never thought I did, but you scared me.” I admitted frankly. “I’m done being afraid. You’ve just saved me from having to check myself into a shelter.”

His eyes were blazing. I realized too late that I had let too much slip. I realized too late that although he had let himself acknowledge one fault, that didn’t mean he could take a hit to his pride. I saw the look, the look he had worn only half an hour before, the look that meant I could very possibly end up dead. “Hey,” I protested. “Come on. Don’t be like that. Don’t hurt me again. You know you do, so just let me go now,” I ordered.

The fire died out, and his eyes became just ash- dead. “I’m so sorry.” He told me dully, but sincerely. For moments I just stood there, my back against the sink, looking down at him, still sitting on the floor, and I could feel us equalizing- my rage and determination transitioning to him, bringing us both to equilibrium.

In my new tranquil state I stepped into the hallway. I silently padded down the stairs and took my old jacket off the chair and threw it over my shoulders. Almost secretively I went through the front door and down the short flight of steps and then across his lawn to the street.

I paused in the golden circle of light beneath the street post. Almost hesitantly I turned and looked back at the house, absorbing the way it looked bathed in the moonlight. It looked like sorrow, like a place I would never return to. And I never would.

I made to leave- I had already taken a half a step- when I noticed a figure in the upstairs window. I could only see the silhouette- the light was on behind him, and I could see any of his features- but I knew it was him. He was still in that bathroom. I lifted my hand awkwardly and waved goodbye to him. He mirrored my actions.

The wind blew across my cheek and the movement made me shiver, but I could not decide whether or not I was any colder. The best I could come up with was different…. And everything was different.