This was part of my Creative Writing Portfolio this year.

Anything

She wasn’t sure when they had stopped talking, when it had become so incredibly silent. She wasn’t even really sure why they had stopped communicating as she pushed open the front door, balancing a bag of groceries in one hand, the keys in the other. He was on the couch, throwing her a tired smile before turning his attention back to the TV. Zapping through channels, he wasn’t really focusing on anything, running a hand through his dark hair.

“I got you the stuff you wanted.” She offered with a small smile. Make an effort, make a damn effort, don’t just… sit there, she thought.

“Yeah…um… thanks. Just… put it in the fridge, will you?” When had all this become so awkward? Staring at the back of his head she willed it to turn to her, willed him to speak to her, yell at her even, do something other than ignore the fact that she was right here. She mumbled a defeated okay, mechanically unpacking all the groceries, putting them away into the cupboards and the fridge they had bought for the new house. The house had been a haven, a place where they could relax, a warm place full of colors and sounds and happiness. Somewhere along the way it had lost the colors, the sounds and the happiness and now looked dreary, as if acid rain had washed all those things away.

She had always thought they didn’t need to be married; they didn’t need a slip of paper to declare their love. Now she almost wished they were married, that she would have that piece of paper tucked away somewhere because it would bind him to her. Instead, she had nothing but silence and an empty bed because he refused to sleep with her.

She took an apple upstairs, stepped into the shower and contemplated her life under the warm spray. Eating fruit in the shower was one of her favorite things to do, one of those things he used to like about her. He used to find it incredibly erotic.

Her quirks had gotten annoying over time and so had his. All she wanted him to do was talk. Tell her to get the hell out, anything really. Just… something. Something other than tired smiles, half-assed kisses just missing her mouth and that stoic silence. It was the kind of silence that was entirely too loud.

When she came back downstairs he was asleep on the couch, stretched out over its entire length. If she woke him and asked him to come to bed he would refuse with another lame excuse, breaking her heart just a little bit more. He was really good at breaking things lately. She remembered the slogan of one of the porcelain stores in town, “You break it, you keep it”. Unfortunately things didn’t work that way in a relationship. He would just simply sweep up the broken pieces off the floor and dump them in the garbage. Let other people fix things; this was much too delicate for his clumsy hands.

Sitting down in the easy chair across from him, she tucked her hands between her knees and stared at him. It was cold, she was cold, the sort of cold that crept into her bones, lodged itself there and refused to go away. He looked peaceful, all those worried lines on his face gone. He looked like the man she’d met years ago, without the lines etched into his skin. His soft curls were messy and God she wanted to run a hand through them, tuck at them, scream at him. Anything to coax a reaction out of him. They weren’t getting anywhere by living the way they did, the flame that had burned between them long gone, leaving nothing behind. She still loved him, loved him with all her heart. She felt as if she was running into a wall whenever she tried to get close to him. Oh yes, he loved her, too. He loved her, but…

“I love you, but…” she whispered the sentence he said so often these days. But. There was no space for a but in a sentence like I love you. Either/ or, there wasn’t some sort of middle that they could just get by living on. There just wasn’t and she knew that she should just get out while she had at least a tiny bit of dignity left. She wasn’t going to beg him to love her; she wasn’t that desperate… yet.

A tear ran down her cheek and she sniffed rather loudly, startling him awake. “Why are you crying?” he asked drowsily, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “Oh fuck you!” she sobbed, throwing a pillow at him forcefully. He caught it with one hand and stared at her in wonder. She was pacing the room, furious at him for not getting “it”, not getting her confusion and all that sadness that sat deep within her stomach and kicked her whenever she was down. She was also mad at herself for actually crying in front of him. He watched her for a while, unable to move and take her in his arms. Whenever he held her these days, on those rare occasions, she felt like a strange object, something cold and stagnant, something that didn’t belong in his arms.

She paced and cried until her tear ducts felt like they were on fire and couldn’t possibly produce anymore tears. She wanted to kick him, continue to yell at him. Then again, that wouldn’t change anything. Yelling at people didn’t usually change things and she just had to admit to herself that this was a lost cause. “I’m moving out.” she finally whispered.

He seemed to be shocked for a moment, then a stoic expression slipped over his face, guarding his feelings and the emotions that threatened to rise up. She caught him looking at her, as if he was trying to find a way to persuade her to stay. Nothing came to mind. She knew it was over and so did he; it had been over for a long time. He was torturing her. He was torturing himself. The fire was gone and the smoke was choking them both.

“Okay.” he said softly, hanging his head in defeat, wondering if he had made the right decision. She nodded, lips tight. Maybe she had hoped for him to stop her, declare his love for her, tell her things would get better, they would work things out. There wasn’t anything left to be worked out, if she was honest with herself. She grabbed the car keys off the counter, threw him a teary smile and ran from the house. The night was cool and she was numb. As she climbed into the car she pictured him sitting in the house, resting his head in his hands. Hopefully he felt as numb as she did, hopefully he wondered where the hell they had taken a wrong turn and fallen down that rocky ravine that had left them both bruised and bleeding at the bottom.

The End.