[7.3] If we break up, it will probably be because...
She calls him a liar when he tells her. She can see the tears in his eyes but she doesn't know if it's just a reflection or the truth. Maybe it's both, but she doesn't care because it's not true.
She hits him. He's trying to be calm, to be patient, to be strong for her, but she doesn't want him to be calm or strong or patient because if John's dead then no one should be calm or strong or patient.
She hits him hard and she doesn't care because she can't feel it and that's just not right. She can't feel her nails pressing into the skin at the bottom of her palm, she can't feel her heart beating painfully fast, she can't feel her legs give out underneath her until she's on the ground and her fingers are scratching at the carpet and she can't breath.
She wants to say 'no no no you're wrong' but she's already called him a liar and she thinks that might just be overkill and she starts crying harder at the thought. He lets her have her space and she thinks she should be grateful but she really doesn't give a shit because her world just disappeared.
She hears crying and she thinks it's herself so she stops and listens because that's a new feeling. But it's not her and she tries to get up but her legs don't work and she cries harder because she's nothing now and she can't even take care of her own children.
He gets them for her and presses the crying baby into her arms and she wants to comfort him but she can't because she doesn't know how. She doesn't know how to tell her baby boys that Daddy isn't coming back. She doesn't know how to tell herself that she's alone again.
Instead, she settles on crying. Because crying is something she's good at. Crying is something she can do. Crying is something that can't be taken away. No one can tell her that her tears are dead, that her tears died because of something she said. When everything has left her, she'll still have her tears and she finds a sick kind of comfort in that.
The baby's stopped crying and it takes her a minute to understand. She blinks at him and he blinks back with dark dark eyes and she's crying again, but it's bittersweet.
She's a liar. She won't be alone. She feels it, feels her heart breaking a little, but then his fingers wrap around her thumb and she's not alone because he's staring up at her with a tear soaked baby smile and he's still hers.
She still can't get up, but she knows he can feel it and he kneels in front of her before sitting, his knees pressed against hers. She wants to apologize, to say something because he just lost his father, but she doesn't. She just reaches out and threads her fingers through his and they sit because there's nothing else left to do.
She hits him. He's trying to be calm, to be patient, to be strong for her, but she doesn't want him to be calm or strong or patient because if John's dead then no one should be calm or strong or patient.
She hits him hard and she doesn't care because she can't feel it and that's just not right. She can't feel her nails pressing into the skin at the bottom of her palm, she can't feel her heart beating painfully fast, she can't feel her legs give out underneath her until she's on the ground and her fingers are scratching at the carpet and she can't breath.
She wants to say 'no no no you're wrong' but she's already called him a liar and she thinks that might just be overkill and she starts crying harder at the thought. He lets her have her space and she thinks she should be grateful but she really doesn't give a shit because her world just disappeared.
She hears crying and she thinks it's herself so she stops and listens because that's a new feeling. But it's not her and she tries to get up but her legs don't work and she cries harder because she's nothing now and she can't even take care of her own children.
He gets them for her and presses the crying baby into her arms and she wants to comfort him but she can't because she doesn't know how. She doesn't know how to tell her baby boys that Daddy isn't coming back. She doesn't know how to tell herself that she's alone again.
Instead, she settles on crying. Because crying is something she's good at. Crying is something she can do. Crying is something that can't be taken away. No one can tell her that her tears are dead, that her tears died because of something she said. When everything has left her, she'll still have her tears and she finds a sick kind of comfort in that.
The baby's stopped crying and it takes her a minute to understand. She blinks at him and he blinks back with dark dark eyes and she's crying again, but it's bittersweet.
She's a liar. She won't be alone. She feels it, feels her heart breaking a little, but then his fingers wrap around her thumb and she's not alone because he's staring up at her with a tear soaked baby smile and he's still hers.
She still can't get up, but she knows he can feel it and he kneels in front of her before sitting, his knees pressed against hers. She wants to apologize, to say something because he just lost his father, but she doesn't. She just reaches out and threads her fingers through his and they sit because there's nothing else left to do.