Drip.

she sat in shocked silence, staring across the room. there was no focus behind her glare, just giving her eyes a place to look besides at him.

“i’m sorry.” he spoke quietly. if it wasn’t silent, she’d miss it.

there was so much pain behind it. his words dripped with apology, and she let them. she let his words hang in the air, allowing them to drip dry until she heard the true meaning behind his statement. he wasn’t sorry for what happened, he’s sorry he got caught.

when she didn’t reply, anger took his words, suffocating and wrung the hurt out of them.

“didn’t i make you feel good?” his voice raised as he stood. he wanted her to yell back. to hit him, to cry, to do something besides just sit there. her silence was too loud.

no. you made me feel terrible.

“didn’t i make you feel loved?” his questions stung. he knew what to say, he always has.

no. you hate me. you love that i don’t hate you.

his eyes bore into the side of her head. through her skull, invading her thoughts. her eyes glanced into his, and he stared back in pleading. he wanted a reply. something, anything.

she wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction.

she wanted him to feel how his words felt. let them drip into their hands, make a mess of things. she wanted them to slip through their fingers and expose their true meanings.

his words and her silence created a dizzying cacophony. she wished they didn’t have to hang so heavy in the air. he hoped she’d finally speak.

there was no use in trying anymore. she saw that, and so did he. the dripping words leaked from between the broken pieces and stained their fingers red.

finally, he stopped. in an agitated wave of his hand, he left her to sit in her own silence. the lack of noise was deafening to him.

as he left, for what felt like the first time in two years, she exhaled.

3 thoughts on “Drip.

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