Sorry, I’m so sorry, that I decided to tell this story.
About them, she figured, he might want to know how she acquired the will to part ways.
If she were given a chance to talk about it out loud, to really complain and make an amendment of what had happened, she would blame it on him.
She wasn’t the one who walked away.
The second week of August marked the end of their acquaintanceship.
It ended not with a single text with a period in the end, or a phone call that lasted only a minute long, or a promised evening spent together with coffees, or a shouting match, no, not even close.
It ended with a text that went unanswered for longer than was acceptable, gradually growing into withdrawal, avoidance, and, finally, rejection.
This should never sting more than it did.
Bloody hell, she thought, staring at yet another text, sent, unanswered, again, for how long? Two weeks, perhaps. Closer to three, it seemed. Likely to go on until the end of the year, for that matter.
Bloody coward, she ended her strings of regrets and curses, selecting the option at the top corner, to erase him forever.
In the book, she wrote what she wanted him to know, to hear, to read:
You’re not supposed to walk away with my heart in your hands, you’re supposed to say what you wanted, I was supposed to say what I wanted, we’re supposed to end things, together.
I thought so highly of you that I forgot who you truly were inside.
But it would never reach him, no matter what happened.
Your, she spelled in the message, heart is made of dust and I had had a taste of it, but you snatched it away from me—
She erased it all the way to the beginning, for it would never be fair for her to sabotage herself like that, for him to think of her as the villain, without giving her a chance to explain herself.
Mouth only millimeters apart from hers, she could see it in his eyes, in his stance, the way he held himself, the doubt and fear creeping up his face, the I didn’t sign up for this and neither did you.
She could understand. She could take everything he threw at her and make a flower out of it. She could forgive him for his ignorance, his kindness, his big heart, his hearty laugh, and his overflowing affections.
But not this.