Defiled
She sat on the edge of the bed opposite the door. Her body was hunched over, her fists clutching the sheets, her arms tense with fury. Her dull eyes were flooded with tears; tears filled with memories. Every drop, another part of her fading away.
"So this is it?"
She ignored the voice she longed to hear. Every night that voice soothed her wild spirit and every night that voice made all her problems go away.
Not tonight.
"Hey, I'm talking to you," he said again, this time with more force.
"I can't do this alone," she spoke, barely audible above the sound of the shower. But he heard it perfectly. "I need you."
"Then why do you want me to go?" he spoke softly. He crossed his arms in the light of the bathroom. His slender figure cast a small shadow across the room. Slowly he rested his right shoulder on the edge of the doorframe. She looked up and saw the shadow version of him and another trickle of tears started.
"It's for the best. I can't have you here anymore."
"Feh, whatever," he whispered. He went into the bathroom and slammed the door.
She didn't flinch.
From the bathroom she heard the shower door slide open and shut quickly; the steady flow of water suddenly disrupted.
The salty tears continued. But this time they were empty. For several minutes she didn't move as he showered. She knew moving meant time moving forward. These were the last minutes she would see him. She wanted him so badly to stay, but now? There was no way she would force that much responsibility on him. Even though she needed the second income, the support, the help... she denied him. She loved him. She hated him. She needed him. How she needed him so badly! She shook her head and several tears dripped down on her lap. She cringed.
"I don't want to leave you."
"I'm doing what's best for you!" she shouted. She hadn't even realized he'd sat down by her on the bed, the only thing covering him was a towel around his waist. His hair was matted to his head and dripped freely on the covers.
"Like hell you are! You need my help and you know it. You're just being a huge bitch right now because your hormones are all jacked up." He stood and walked to the dresser to get some boxers on. The silence grew more uncomfortable as neither of them spoke.
She rose. "I never... EVER... want to see you again. I don't want you near me. I don't want you to try and contact me. NOTHING. This is the last time you'll ever see me. Do you understand?" She didn't even make eye contact. Immediately she regretted not looking him in the eyes to assert her dominance in the conversation. Now he'd know she truly wanted him to stay.
"Then look me in the eyes and say it to my face."
She couldn't. He knew. He always knew.
"Get the hell out of my house." He stopped to look at her; her words seemingly spoken in another language. "Get out now. Take what you can, but get. The hell. Out."
He stared blankly at her, finished getting dressed. In the following minutes, he gathered what little he had in the room and paused. "I hope this is what you want." With a heave, he throws a duffle bag over his shoulder. "Because I know it's not."
She couldn't even cry anymore. It wasn't worth it. She didn't say anything as he walked to the bedroom door. For a moment he hesitated by the handle. "I hate you." She forced out.
He inhaled deeply, knowing she lied. He opened the door, left, and shut it forcibly behind him.
"I hate you but I love you," she whispered to herself. She let a hand stray to her still flat belly. One last memory fell to her feet. No other sound was made, other than her footsteps to the bed. In roughly six months, her loneliness would dissipate and her new life left undefiled of the past.