(no subject)
Yesterday, I had the sudden urge to write a story based on John Mayer's Split Screen Sadness. I decided to write a wholly original, non-fandom short. Today, I sat down to write it and it flowed...well, surprisingly well.
As a whole, I like it. I think. I feel that I could have put more thought into it, but I do love the way it worked, even if it strayed from the lyrics a bit. Please feel free to let me know what you think. ♥
Lily makes the decision as a motorcycle tears through the midnight silence. She packs up what she's left in the apartment over time, debates leaving a note. She catches her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. There are photos tucked around the outside - photos of her, of them, of the last twenty years together. It's unnatural - no, unfair, she thinks blandly - that she's never changed and he's only gotten more beautiful. She doesn't deserve him. The realization causes her to close the door - literally and figuratively - as she leaves, nothing left behind to say she was ever really there.
Ben gets in after one, as usual. Work has been keeping him later and later, rushing him to meet deadlines and print schedules, and while he knows it's valuable for his career, he hates leaving her alone all night. He opens the door quietly, so quietly, knowing she's asleep a few rooms away. But as he closes it behind him, he feels the difference in the air. He calls out to her, fear and panic threatening to overwhelm him, but he forces himself to stay calm. She doesn't answer, so he goes to the bedroom, hoping to find her lost to deep, encompassing sleep.
Lily finds the bus station almost subconsciously. She steps up to the ticket window, requests the ticket that will take her the furthest soonest. Clutching it in her cold, trembling hands, she sits down on a bench to wait. Her City stretches in front of her, all lights and sounds and impersonal buildings - all the same sights as every other day. But this is different. This is her last night here. Her heart flutters. He'll know she left. He'll know it was her own doing, not someone else's. He'll probably call, begging her to come home, but he'll know she can't. He's probably reaching for the phone now...
Ben stands in the kitchen, beside the sink. The dishes are done - there's still water dripping off some of the plates. She hasn't been gone long, but she's gone. He reaches for the phone on the wall, but his hand stops on the receiver. She hadn't left a note, a message on the voicemail, nothing. If he called, what would she say? Would he be able to get her to come home? She was always saying that New York was too much for her. She needed to breathe. She needed to find a place she could be herself - that she could call home. Then she'd laugh at her clichéd thoughts and snuggle closer, but he knew she was at least partially serious.
Lily takes a breath as the announcement calls for her boarding. She watches as the hot air from her lungs mingles with the chilled air around her; she can almost see the crystals forming as the mist floats away from her. There's a beautiful poetry in that, she thinks, in the way your breath just flows from you, mixes with fresh air, and gives someone else life. The announcement sounds again, loud and frightening in the silent terminal, and she gets to her feet. Someone else will take her place in the City. That's how it always works.
Ben pulls his coat tighter, tucking it beneath him as he sits down on the front stairs of their building. He looks up at the stars, glittering through the thin clouds of winter that promise snowfall soon. He thinks of Lily when he sees those stars. So distant, so unreachable, but so damn beautiful he doesn't know the words to use. He wants to scream, to find her and curse her and tell her he never wants to see her again, but that won't help matters. It'll be just as bad as knowing she's left. At least, if he says nothing, she can't blame him and it won't give her more of a reason to leave. And the part of him that wants to blame her for everything, for up and leaving and breaking his heart and destroying twenty years together... He just can't do it. He's known her since she was five, been her childhood sweetheart at seven, her lover at 16, her fiancée at 25. He knows too much about her, knows her heart too well, to blame her for something that's not her fault. He realizes he's just breathed her name, heard it disappear into the night after her, watched it fade away.
Lily wonders what the weather will be like. She's dressed for a New York City winter, but Michigan...isn't it colder there? She and Ben always joke that there are really only two seasons in New York - summer and winter. She looks out the window of the bus - mostly empty because, she assumes, most people would rather fly than take a nineteen-hour bus ride to Lansing. The stars are shimmering overhead and she inhales slowly. Ben loves to look at the stars - he says it reminds him how small his place in the world really is. She only hopes that thought helps him understand why she's leaving, why she has to go. She catches a particularly bright star just ahead of her and imagines it's her guiding light, leading her to where she should be.
Ben checks his watch. It's been nearly an hour. Lily's disappeared before, but never for very long. He stands, heads back inside, and it's then he notices her things are gone from the bedroom. He swears, his eyes filling with tears, and this time he really does pick up the phone. He's shocked when she answers, her voice small and quiet. She tries to hang up, but he begs her, telling her he just needs to know she's there. After a few moments of silence, he tells her he can't do this - if she's really gone, it's over.
Lily agrees almost immediately.
Ben's tears are staining his work shirt, his free hand is running through his red hair so roughly he wonders if he's going to pull it out. He sobs to her, realizing he's trying to make her angry at him so he can be angry at her, so they can fight and really make a breakup worth it. But all he hears is her gentle voice, thick and exhausted, telling him she loves him but she can't. Again, he wants to swear. He desperately wants to be mad. He wants them both to be wrong so that maybe it can be fixed, but he knows deep in his heart that this is right for Lily and, by proxy, right for him. It's the most painful thing in the world, that knowledge that the love you've spent your life building is over.
Lily hangs up during a silence on Ben's end. She's crying, which surprises her a bit, and she quickly rubs the tears off her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She opens her phone again and sets Ben's number to go directly to voicemail before slipping it into the pocket of her coat. As her gaze slides back to the scenery rolling past, she swears she can see Ben's face next to hers in the reflection on the glass. She closes her eyes and prays for sleep.
Ben sits on the bedroom floor, the phone still clutched in his hand, hitting the redial button. Lily's voice chirps happily on her outgoing message, and he hangs up and dials again. And again. And again. Shattered, he throws the phone across the room and it cracks the mirror. When he stands to clean it up, he sees his own reflection lined up with a photo of Lily, sound asleep. Her face is peaceful, but he knows the sadness is there. He braces himself on the edge of the dresser and cries. He knows he'll recover. He knows she'll be okay. He knows that one day, he'll be better, she'll be better, and maybe, just maybe, they'll find each other again.
There's no substitute for time when it comes to healing.
As a whole, I like it. I think. I feel that I could have put more thought into it, but I do love the way it worked, even if it strayed from the lyrics a bit. Please feel free to let me know what you think. ♥
Lily makes the decision as a motorcycle tears through the midnight silence. She packs up what she's left in the apartment over time, debates leaving a note. She catches her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. There are photos tucked around the outside - photos of her, of them, of the last twenty years together. It's unnatural - no, unfair, she thinks blandly - that she's never changed and he's only gotten more beautiful. She doesn't deserve him. The realization causes her to close the door - literally and figuratively - as she leaves, nothing left behind to say she was ever really there.
Ben gets in after one, as usual. Work has been keeping him later and later, rushing him to meet deadlines and print schedules, and while he knows it's valuable for his career, he hates leaving her alone all night. He opens the door quietly, so quietly, knowing she's asleep a few rooms away. But as he closes it behind him, he feels the difference in the air. He calls out to her, fear and panic threatening to overwhelm him, but he forces himself to stay calm. She doesn't answer, so he goes to the bedroom, hoping to find her lost to deep, encompassing sleep.
Lily finds the bus station almost subconsciously. She steps up to the ticket window, requests the ticket that will take her the furthest soonest. Clutching it in her cold, trembling hands, she sits down on a bench to wait. Her City stretches in front of her, all lights and sounds and impersonal buildings - all the same sights as every other day. But this is different. This is her last night here. Her heart flutters. He'll know she left. He'll know it was her own doing, not someone else's. He'll probably call, begging her to come home, but he'll know she can't. He's probably reaching for the phone now...
Ben stands in the kitchen, beside the sink. The dishes are done - there's still water dripping off some of the plates. She hasn't been gone long, but she's gone. He reaches for the phone on the wall, but his hand stops on the receiver. She hadn't left a note, a message on the voicemail, nothing. If he called, what would she say? Would he be able to get her to come home? She was always saying that New York was too much for her. She needed to breathe. She needed to find a place she could be herself - that she could call home. Then she'd laugh at her clichéd thoughts and snuggle closer, but he knew she was at least partially serious.
Lily takes a breath as the announcement calls for her boarding. She watches as the hot air from her lungs mingles with the chilled air around her; she can almost see the crystals forming as the mist floats away from her. There's a beautiful poetry in that, she thinks, in the way your breath just flows from you, mixes with fresh air, and gives someone else life. The announcement sounds again, loud and frightening in the silent terminal, and she gets to her feet. Someone else will take her place in the City. That's how it always works.
Ben pulls his coat tighter, tucking it beneath him as he sits down on the front stairs of their building. He looks up at the stars, glittering through the thin clouds of winter that promise snowfall soon. He thinks of Lily when he sees those stars. So distant, so unreachable, but so damn beautiful he doesn't know the words to use. He wants to scream, to find her and curse her and tell her he never wants to see her again, but that won't help matters. It'll be just as bad as knowing she's left. At least, if he says nothing, she can't blame him and it won't give her more of a reason to leave. And the part of him that wants to blame her for everything, for up and leaving and breaking his heart and destroying twenty years together... He just can't do it. He's known her since she was five, been her childhood sweetheart at seven, her lover at 16, her fiancée at 25. He knows too much about her, knows her heart too well, to blame her for something that's not her fault. He realizes he's just breathed her name, heard it disappear into the night after her, watched it fade away.
Lily wonders what the weather will be like. She's dressed for a New York City winter, but Michigan...isn't it colder there? She and Ben always joke that there are really only two seasons in New York - summer and winter. She looks out the window of the bus - mostly empty because, she assumes, most people would rather fly than take a nineteen-hour bus ride to Lansing. The stars are shimmering overhead and she inhales slowly. Ben loves to look at the stars - he says it reminds him how small his place in the world really is. She only hopes that thought helps him understand why she's leaving, why she has to go. She catches a particularly bright star just ahead of her and imagines it's her guiding light, leading her to where she should be.
Ben checks his watch. It's been nearly an hour. Lily's disappeared before, but never for very long. He stands, heads back inside, and it's then he notices her things are gone from the bedroom. He swears, his eyes filling with tears, and this time he really does pick up the phone. He's shocked when she answers, her voice small and quiet. She tries to hang up, but he begs her, telling her he just needs to know she's there. After a few moments of silence, he tells her he can't do this - if she's really gone, it's over.
Lily agrees almost immediately.
Ben's tears are staining his work shirt, his free hand is running through his red hair so roughly he wonders if he's going to pull it out. He sobs to her, realizing he's trying to make her angry at him so he can be angry at her, so they can fight and really make a breakup worth it. But all he hears is her gentle voice, thick and exhausted, telling him she loves him but she can't. Again, he wants to swear. He desperately wants to be mad. He wants them both to be wrong so that maybe it can be fixed, but he knows deep in his heart that this is right for Lily and, by proxy, right for him. It's the most painful thing in the world, that knowledge that the love you've spent your life building is over.
Lily hangs up during a silence on Ben's end. She's crying, which surprises her a bit, and she quickly rubs the tears off her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She opens her phone again and sets Ben's number to go directly to voicemail before slipping it into the pocket of her coat. As her gaze slides back to the scenery rolling past, she swears she can see Ben's face next to hers in the reflection on the glass. She closes her eyes and prays for sleep.
Ben sits on the bedroom floor, the phone still clutched in his hand, hitting the redial button. Lily's voice chirps happily on her outgoing message, and he hangs up and dials again. And again. And again. Shattered, he throws the phone across the room and it cracks the mirror. When he stands to clean it up, he sees his own reflection lined up with a photo of Lily, sound asleep. Her face is peaceful, but he knows the sadness is there. He braces himself on the edge of the dresser and cries. He knows he'll recover. He knows she'll be okay. He knows that one day, he'll be better, she'll be better, and maybe, just maybe, they'll find each other again.
There's no substitute for time when it comes to healing.