This is really random. And really short. But inspiration struck while listening to "I and Love and You" by the Avett Brothers and so I wrote! I think this is my residual October melancholy coming into play, so you should be warned.
I own nothing but my mind.
Addison stares calmly, lying back against the headboard of her bed, watching him carry boxes out of the room.
"I think that's it," he says awkwardly, coming back into the room.
She glances around the room. There's still plenty of junk lying around. It feels empty anyway. "I guess so."
He clears his throat. "I should probably get going."
"I guess so," she repeats, not looking at him.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."
A little bitter laugh burbles from her throat before she can catch it. "That's not really worth that much anymore, is it?" she asks rhetorically.
He shifts uncomfortably. "Guess not."
"I'm sorry, too," she says quietly.
Readjusting his hold on the last box, he explains, "You deserve better. Than me. You deserve better."
"Yeah, I do." Doesn't mean she wants it.
Neither one is sure how they got here, but they want to know the way back. That's been closed off though. This is the only way they can see out. This is the only possibility. They've come too far to go back now.
"Don't forget, we have a meeting on Monday," she says.
"I'll be there," he responds.
Addison bites her lip. "Well, thanks, I guess."
"For what?"
"I was really happy. For a really long time, I was really happy. Thank you for that."
He doesn't know how to respond to that, so he looks around. "You're still wearing the rings," he comments. He doesn't sound too surprised.
She frowns and glances down at the suddenly meaningless bands. "Yeah," she says. "I guess. I'll take them off soon."
"It's your choice," he shrugs. "I guess."
"Yeah, I guess."
More silence. There's always silence.
"So… this is over," he comments.
"Yeah, I guess so," she answers. She gets up and kisses his cheek. "I really was happy."
He captures her lips in a fiery kiss and she doesn't resist.
Later, she lies tangled in those same sheets that she was lying on top of earlier. She stares at the bands on her finger. They glint maliciously in the light coming through the window.
Nothing has changed. He gathers up his things. She watches him leave from the bed.
The door closes behind him. "I love you, Alex," she whispers, horrified by the ironic fact that she can now say the words that had disappeared long enough to kill her marriage.
Outside the door, he's surprised at how easy it was to pack up his entire life into a few boxes and leave. He stops for a moment before he gets into his car. "I love you, Addison," he says before getting into the driver's seat.
Suddenly, he knows exactly why packing up his life was so easy—he left it in his old bedroom, with his tired, broken, soon-to-be-ex-wife.
He puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the driveway.
Three words that became hard to say:
I and love and you
I said it was sad, didn't I?
-Juli-