The rain-drenched pavement stretched out ahead as far as she could see, for what seemed like miles. It was a sticky heat. Almost stifling, a mix of steam as the rain fell onto hot asphalt and the caustic odour of stagnant air from the sewer drains rising up through the metal grates. The muted glow of daylight over the skyline would soon burn out completely, and it was that simple thought which made the city all the more daunting. Walking away from the steps of the train platform, Abby Lockhart negotiated the cramped sidewalks, unmanicured nails tapping against the handle of her umbrella as she grasped it tightly in one hand, a cigarette dangling precariously between two fingers of the other. She felt positively sick at the thought of going back to their apartment- or, more accurately, his apartment- the place where she had so longed to be before she had finally returned to Chicago. It wouldn't be the same anymore. It hadn't been in the weeks before she'd left. For each good memory, another had come along to replace it. Another less welcome, less desirable, less possible to face. Another fight. Maybe she wouldn't have to face it anyway. Maybe he wasn't even there. She had lost, she had left, and she had never looked back. Tried not to. It was all beyond repair by then. It was that simple. And at first, she hadn't given him a second thought. Neither of them. Or, at least, she hadn't admitted it. She never would. Dropping the cigarette, she stomped out the embers with the heel of her black pumps and slowly lifted her gaze from the fixed point on the ground in front of her.
The rain had subsided, the umbrella no longer serving any purpose- she didn't want it anymore, didn't need it. Simply folding it shut, she took the few steps over to drop it into the nearest bin along the way. It had felt too awkward and unwieldy in her small hand. Too heavy. Too much. Everything else seemed to be that day. But nothing else had allowed for the quick resolution of simply being discarded and forgotten. How long had she been standing there? Dead batteries- she didn't need the watch, either, and shoved it down into the first available pocket of her purse before lighting another cigarette and continuing down the street, replaying over and over again the events which had unfolded months before. The worst part was how he had known that she had faltered. Or as she had always put it, fucked up. Completely. It took everything she had to try and keep him from finding out, and in the end, she couldn't. He had always known her, always been able to read her and see past the walls she had built up, and she had always hated him for it, if only secretly. The lies had been new, though. Different. Unexpected. He hadn't been prepared for that. Just like she hadn't been prepared to lose her son. She should have told him, should have been honest, should have been there for him the way he was trying to be there for her. She should have stayed. Would they have even bothered, even pursued what they had ended once before, if they had known how it would end? Would she have even been strong enough? It was too late to wonder, but she did it anyway.
As she stood there alone on the corner, coming to the realisation that she would walk down the dark street to an empty hotel room, she pressed her palms against her face, believing momentarily that she could keep the tears from coming by doing so. She didn't. Maybe she couldn't, didn't really want to. But it didn't even matter, because by then it was impossible. They could have been together always, they could have been happy. They had been happy. She had ruined it. It was over.
One step. Two, three, four. At ten, she lost count, not at all distracted by it anyhow.