She was at the door, arms laboring with suitcases heavy with not only clothes but memories as well. How cliché that thunder boomed angrily and rain poured their tears endlessly. Her eyes were still livid with fury, practically glowing with rashness. it had only taken her eleven minutes to gather all of her belongings and stow them into two medium sized suitcases. You stand quietly, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed. You want her to leave. You're anger is still very much alive, kicking around in your chest, throwing chairs into the walls of your ribs, and setting fire to photo albums in your mind. Her raven locks are pulled back into a tight ponytail which is an odd thing for her to do. You raise your eyebrow with a hint of condescending humor, silently questioning her motives. She ignores you and glances down the street. You adjust you footing and sigh impatiently. She glares in response, mentally jabbing you with a sharpened dagger.
"Where's the taxi?" You ask, shattering the silence and gluing it back together with raw tension. She shrugs distantly, raising one hand to wave away your question. You study the room of your shared apartment to pass the time. A lamp lay broken in the kitchen, jagged pieces scattered on the tile. She was the one who hurled it at your head but you had ducked just in time. There's a hole in the dry wall, though you've never considered yourself a violent person, where your knuckles had passed all of your frustration into a powerful swing. She had ducked just in time.
"I won't miss you." She says, noticing you studying the broken wall. You stare, surprised at her outburst. She looks away back out into the street. Your eyes drop to the floor as more anger burns into your throat. So much anger that you don't even notice her crossing the living room and pinning you against the wall. Then she's kissing you. So passionately, so…needy. You don't even think before responding. Her fingers tangle in your hair, she always had a habit of doing so, and you don't even know what you're doing because all you can feel is passion. Your body is alive with so much electricity. Her lips, her hands in your hair, the way her hips sway. You move your hands down her back, feeling the goosebumps on her skin. She stops, pulling away, shutting off the electricity.
"Good-bye." She whispers, floating to the door, grabbing her bags, and climbing into the taxi that apparently showed up. You run to the doorway out into the pouring rain as the taxi speeds down the wet road.
You stand still, vision blurred by stinging tears. Then you hear your heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.