What do you think, the black or the navy? You hold up each individual hanger, and notice that he doesn't even look over.
He finishes tying his necktie, and runs a hand through his hair. I don't care.
You laugh. You haven't really laughed since you've gotten married. This laugh represents everything about your marriage right now. It's bitter, and full of lost hopes and dreams. Even lost loves. But you wouldn't go so far to say that, would you? Would you? Of course you don't care.
He looks over, and you notice the tired look in his eyes. But he doesn't get to be selfish. You're tired too. He doesn't say anything. You reach in your jewelry box, the one he got you for your first anniversary, and take out the pearl necklace. Another anniversary gift. You loop it around your neck and clasp it together. Your hand rests on the necklace for a second, before it falls to your side. This is it, John. The last time we have to be together.
He laughs, and it startles you. You jump. He notices it, but ignores it. Last time we have to be together? I didn't know that we had to be together.
This wasn't supposed to be how it worked. You were supposed to end up with a happy ending. You try to calm down as you run a hand through your hair. We won't be as soon as you sign those papers.
He sighs, and the noise makes you turn your head. You see his jaw clench. His eyes meet yours and he smiles half-heartedly. They'll be on your desk tomorrow.
You take a sharp breath and you smile, because you can't cry. Not in front of him. Not about this. You had wanted him to argue with you. To say something. Do something. Not just agree with you. Fine. You decide on the navy for no particular reason. You step into it. Zip me up?
You hear the soft thuds of his footfalls as he moves towards you. You smell his aftershave. You want to turn around and kiss him and apologize. But that isn't going to happen. His hand skims down your back for a second, before you feel him pulling the zipper up. You stand like that for a second. What happened to us, Elizabeth?
You feel the tears start to come up again. And you really don't want to cry. Not like this. Because it's been months. And you're tired. And he's tired. You don't want to go through this again. You close your eyes for a second. I don't know. The air is heavy and charged with emotion. Charged with the tears you don't want to cry. With the anger he doesn't want to show.
He pulls away, and you almost want to cry out. I'm sorry. It's a soft whisper.
You walk away, your bare feet almost silent. By the time you finish dressing, he's standing near the doorway with your coat. You turn to him, eyes shining. You promised yourself you wouldn't cry. You wouldn't.
Tell me something.
What?
Why—The tears that you didn't want to fall are splattering loudly on your cheeks—what was so special about her? He looks at you, and he looks sad. Apologetic. He shouldn't have put you both through this. But he has. And it kills you.
He shakes his head. Nothing. Nothing's special about her.
You shiver, and he places the coat around your shoulders. Cold? You don't say anything. But you know. Yes. Yes, you are. You're cold. And he's made you that way. You walk to the dresser, and dab at your eyes. Your make-up doesn't look too bad. You toss the tissue into the wastebasket.
The silk swishes softly around your ankles when you move towards the doorway. He opens the door and waits for you to go first. You look back at him. You twist the diamond ring off of your finger, and place it in his hand. He looks at you, and you wonder when his eyes started looking dull. You lean in and whisper in his ear. I hope you're happy. But you don't. You hope that his relationship fails, but maybe that's the part of you that still loves him talking. You kiss his cheek. Do you—do you love her? Your eyes look at his earnestly. You shake your head. How could you have asked something like that? Uh—um—forget it. You hurriedly walk down the hallway.
He casts a glance at the apartment. The last time the apartment will belong to both of you. You stop and wait for him. Before he closes the door, you hear the faintest whisper. No. No, I don't.