She came back last night.

I came back tired. When I first saw her sitting next to my front door, I thought that I was about to fall. She was wearing a black classic dress and shiny earrings. And she looked even sadder than I remember.

I was angry. Of course, I was angry. Always like that, always come back to me. It's like her favorite book. But who can hold grudge against her? With her green eyes and red hair, she reminds a sweet fairy who meant no harm.

Right, I don't know why I felt this way. I'm not so sure that I love her anymore. I was the one who left. She is the one who keeps coming back. She is an old dog that always comes back for your leftovers. Maybe it's just because of that now I no longer equal to her.

So I walked in, and I let her come in. She was shaken. The cold, that's what she told me. She said that she missed me, and she noticed that I still hang her painting. I let her walk around as if this was still her home, and for a second I pretended that it still was.

She stand-in in the middle of the kitchen and looked aside, out of the window. Her neck just called me to kiss it, to suck it. I stand behind her, and a flashback of happy times suddenly came back to me. I rose up my left hand, the one with my family ring-

"I'm getting married."

And then the spell was broken. My whole body turns away from her, disgust.

She sighs. "I thought that it would be better if you'll hear it from me and not the papers."

"Congratulation. You are an official trophy wife."

She didn't stop shaking. "Enough. He is a good man. He is kind, sweet-"

"Just an angel," I cut her off. "And most important, he is not me."

She didn't deny it. If I was honest, I kind of wanted her to deny it. I missed the old Clary, with the temper and anger issues, the girl that passionately screamed whenever something seemed unfair in her eyes. Now it was not like her image, she needed to play the role of the perfect little girlfriend.

I clenched my fists. Never in my life had I felt a deeper hatred than I had felt towards her fiancé. The whole world saw him as a rich boy with the unlimited amount of luck. For me, he was a thief.

But why did I felt like that? I was the one who put an end to our story.

"I need to know now."

She was so quiet that at first, I didn't hear her. The tension in the room was thicker and thicker. With a clear effort, I controlled my voice, "what?"

"Do you love me?"

There were so many questions that I had prepared myself to answer about. Countless times I heard her asks in my mind "why did you kick me out?" "Are we still got a chance?" "Why are you still keep my painting?"

This was the last question that I thought she would ask me. Especially not with her big green eyes staring at me, her little designer purse in her hand and a diamond necklace on her neck.

I shook my head. My voice was furies when I said, "what makes you ask me that?"

"I need to know, and I need to know now."

"You know the answer already."

Her lower lip shook. "Say it. Say it now, because if you won't I'll leave him."

The burning stung of betrayal flew through my veins. It was not about me, about us. It was about her getting her perfect little happy end. I spat on the floor. "No, I never did," I say with the darkest tone my voice could sound like.

She flinched, hurt- and relief. And then she turns and walks away from my life.

My chest is heavy. I'm sitting down, forcing myself not to breathe too heavily. In my head I remind myself that it was my choice- it was always my choice. I was the one who chose to throw out her painting brushes and oil paints. I was the one who stopped drinking black coffee because that's was her favorite drink. I was the one in control.

So why did I not felt in control? I had the power. I was the one who made her come back over and over again.

My head berried in my arms. For the first time in a while, I was sure that I love her.


Hope you all have a wonderful day.