Friday 10 March 2017
"You're angry." A statement. Not a question.
She didn't reply.
"You're spiralling." Another statement.
A flash of something. Dark. Hard. Angry. "What of it?"
Did it matter? Did anything really matter? She shrugged off the hand that was slowly creeping onto her shoulder.
He tucked his hands away. "I didn't do anything."
"That's precisely it."
"What are you really accusing me of?"
She shook her head. She didn't know. Didn't know anymore. All she knew was that tight fist of anger nestled beneath her breasts, the stiff clench of hatred settled along her jawline, the burning fire of resentment in her belly, that wouldn't go away. Wouldn't abate. Wouldn't be quenched.
"Did I promise you anything?"
The word fell from her lips like bitter medicine. "No."
"Then why are you angry?"
Because I'm tired. Because I'm lonely. Because I'm afraid. Because I'm stuck here, one step forward, two steps back, and everyone is leaving. Because I'm not enough. I'm never enough.
He stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and this time, she didn't push him away. "Breathe."