She, 5

            She opened the apartment door and walked in. There was a dark greyness surrounding everything and the dreary light through the windows was cold, damp, ill illumination. She entered the bedroom and saw the outline of his body lying on the bed. The drapes were drawn and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

            “You look pretty,” he said in a low voice.

            “Thanks,” she said shortly. She walked to the closet and hung her jacket as her heart began to hammer. She could feel the chemicals reacting in her body. Fear, anxiety and sorrow mixed into a confusing mass. She turned to look at him through the darkness.

            “Are we going to talk about this?” he said. His voice was still a low drone. The monotone heightened her emotions. She knew he was wrought and raw on the inside.

            She fumbled with a corner stitch on her blouse and slowly walked to the bed. She sat down at the corner furthest from him, her back to him.

            “What’s happening?” he muttered.

She was quiet for some time and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she matched his low tone.

“I don’t know you anymore. And it is making me crazy. It makes me feel like I don’t know me anymore because when I think about me, I think about you. I think about us.” He stopped and collected himself briefly. “You’ve pulled away from me and everyone else. If you can’t talk to me at least talk to someone.”

“My brother saw shrinks his entire life before he killed himself. For nineteen years. I am not going to a shrink.”

“So you’re just going to hold everything inside and push away everyone?”

“I don’t want to talk about this. Again.”

“We wouldn’t have to talk about it again if you would… could make active steps to fixing it. And it’s only getting worse – that shit at the church, that is the worst I have seen you.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “That is the worst I have seen myself, don’t you think I fucking know that?”

“And you’re okay with that? You’re okay letting that be your worst ‘til you do something else that’s your worst? Over and over?” She remained silent. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

She rose from the bed and walked to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She blinked heavily, droplets falling from her lashes. He knocked on the door softly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She closed her eyes and inhaled heavily as more tears escaped her. Sorry. She was sorry. It didn’t make any sense to her either. She carried everything inside of her, hiding away pieces – sometimes forever – and expressing herself untruthfully. It was who she was now. Thinking about a way back to her former self was dizzying and impossible. She was sorry. Yet there he was, apology in hand; anything to pull her back to him.

An inexplicable anger came over her and she pulled the door open. “What are you sorry for?”

“For what I said.”

“But it’s all the truth, isn’t it?” she countered, the boiling inside her rising.

“For how I said it,” he corrected.

“Fuck off,” she said nastily as she pushed past him. She entered the bedroom and reached inside her closet and pulled out her jacket. A piece of paper fell onto the floor and she bent down to pick it up.

“I said I was sorry,” he said as he came up behind her.

“Stop saying sorry.”

“I am fucking sorry!”

She balled her fist painfully and swung at him, hitting him on the chest hard. “STOP!”

The blow didn’t faze him. “I’m sorry that no matter what the fuck I do or say or try or give or accept, you are still hurting. That’s what I’m sorry for.”

She shook her head and pushed him hard as she marched to the door. He followed her and pulled her back by the arm. She flung him off her and looked him in the eye.

“I’m done with you. I want you to get all your shit out of here – out of my fucking life,” she spat.

He looked at her with a dead expression then chuckled.

She spun around and walked out the apartment. She exited her building and walked swiftly to a nearby deli.

“Cigarettes,” she said to the man behind the counter. She put the money on the counter.

“This isn’t money, miss,” the cashier said.

She stared at him blankly as he unfolded the piece of paper slowly. “It’s a business card. See?” He held it to her eye level and she blinked many times until the words came into focus.

It was the card the waitress had given her.