Theatrical Muse #329 - Get Out
She was sitting over her desk when he came in. Not all the way, but he stood in the doorway and leaned against the door frame and watched her at work on her correspondence. That was what she called it. Her fingers tapped on the keyboard, creating an indistinguishable rattle of noise.
"Aren't you even going to talk to me?"
She shook her head before she realized what that meant, then held up a hand. "Just a second."
"Fine," he sighed, and she heard his shoes squeak as he turned to walk away.
"Wait, wait, please..." She sighed. Took a deep breath and raised her head to look at him, one arm over the back of her chair. "I... will work on it. I promise. I know I've been distant, lately, but..."
He laughed. "Distant? Is that what you're calling it now? Distant. You spend all of your time on that thing, you barely talk to anyone at work from what I can tell, you don't make friends. You don't even attempt to play office politics which is why you are constantly being passed over, and then you come home and complain about it."
She stared at him, mouth working to try to pull out the right words from the air. She knew them, they were there, she knew the words that would pull him back or shatter him completely and leave him to be picked up and put back together by her or cast aside but she couldn't bring herself to say them.
"You barely talk to your friends here. You live your life out of a series of five minute encounters. And the buzzwords. And all those little twelve step programs, weekend seminars to a better you, imagine it and it will be? It will not be. You have to actually make the effort..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You'll have to make the effort, because I'm not going to..."
"Not going to what." Her voice sank a quarter octave or so, dangerous. "Make the effort? You think you've been the one carrying us here?"
"No," he told her, still looking down. "Because I can't. I'm not strong enough. But I'm done making an effort to reach you. You're going to have to be the one who reaches out from now on."
Her fingers opened and clenched on the back of the chair, then she turned around to the keyboard. She needed something to clear her head, because this wasn't working. Her cheeks were flushed.
"Fine."
No, now she didn't look around. Her back straightened, and she did raise her chin. "Get out." He was going to walk away anyway, she would pre-empt him.
"Excuse me?"
"Get out." She rose, turned, with a dramatic flip of her coppery hair over her shoulder. It was a cheap theatrical gesture, but it worked, especially when it was the gesture that had gotten his attention in the first place. "You want this over, it's over. Get out of my house."
His turn to be at a loss for words, cheeks flushed.
"If you're so willing to give up on us, then there's nothing I can say or do that will change your mind. And so I won't waste my time or energy trying. If the last few years have meant so little to you that you're not bothering to try, you're not worth trying for. You pass judgment on me when you could have come to me any time and said something, and you didn't. That's your choice. You could have done your part to fix this, and you didn't. And that's also your choice. This is your failing as much as mine. You're just not willing to admit it."
"Beth..."
"Get. Out."
He did.
"Aren't you even going to talk to me?"
She shook her head before she realized what that meant, then held up a hand. "Just a second."
"Fine," he sighed, and she heard his shoes squeak as he turned to walk away.
"Wait, wait, please..." She sighed. Took a deep breath and raised her head to look at him, one arm over the back of her chair. "I... will work on it. I promise. I know I've been distant, lately, but..."
He laughed. "Distant? Is that what you're calling it now? Distant. You spend all of your time on that thing, you barely talk to anyone at work from what I can tell, you don't make friends. You don't even attempt to play office politics which is why you are constantly being passed over, and then you come home and complain about it."
She stared at him, mouth working to try to pull out the right words from the air. She knew them, they were there, she knew the words that would pull him back or shatter him completely and leave him to be picked up and put back together by her or cast aside but she couldn't bring herself to say them.
"You barely talk to your friends here. You live your life out of a series of five minute encounters. And the buzzwords. And all those little twelve step programs, weekend seminars to a better you, imagine it and it will be? It will not be. You have to actually make the effort..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "You'll have to make the effort, because I'm not going to..."
"Not going to what." Her voice sank a quarter octave or so, dangerous. "Make the effort? You think you've been the one carrying us here?"
"No," he told her, still looking down. "Because I can't. I'm not strong enough. But I'm done making an effort to reach you. You're going to have to be the one who reaches out from now on."
Her fingers opened and clenched on the back of the chair, then she turned around to the keyboard. She needed something to clear her head, because this wasn't working. Her cheeks were flushed.
"Fine."
No, now she didn't look around. Her back straightened, and she did raise her chin. "Get out." He was going to walk away anyway, she would pre-empt him.
"Excuse me?"
"Get out." She rose, turned, with a dramatic flip of her coppery hair over her shoulder. It was a cheap theatrical gesture, but it worked, especially when it was the gesture that had gotten his attention in the first place. "You want this over, it's over. Get out of my house."
His turn to be at a loss for words, cheeks flushed.
"If you're so willing to give up on us, then there's nothing I can say or do that will change your mind. And so I won't waste my time or energy trying. If the last few years have meant so little to you that you're not bothering to try, you're not worth trying for. You pass judgment on me when you could have come to me any time and said something, and you didn't. That's your choice. You could have done your part to fix this, and you didn't. And that's also your choice. This is your failing as much as mine. You're just not willing to admit it."
"Beth..."
"Get. Out."
He did.