How could he?
This is the only thought rushing through your head as you run. You know it is stupid, childish even to think you can run from it but you can't seem to stop. Instead your feet speed up as if trying to leave behind the heartache, wind rushing past your head like it's trying to expel the sights you know will forever be etched behind your closed eyelids. The thoughts won't stop, and neither will the feelings.
All that's happening as you run is that your breath is coming in pants yet you can't seem to stop. Your feet echo off the pavement, and you wish it was day so the bustle would take away from the sound of stillness.
Finally you slow. Your lungs are crying in need and even your gasps don't seem to satisfy their want of air. The place where you've stopped is unfamiliar and dark, and the silence is more formidable than you thought was possible. It's heavy, weighing you down until you sink to your knees with a shudder. Though maybe it isn't the silence that's weighing you down. Maybe it's the betrayal, the hurt, that's residing in your heart and causing it to feel more of a burden than a pleasure. As if on cue the pain spikes and you gasp, clutching at your chest. You'd often heard emotional pain can turn physical, but feeling it in action and hearing it are two different things entirely. And it had been such a good day. With that thought the memories return.
It had been a good day. You didn't have to go to work until almost noon, and though you worked later than usual the productivity had been unmistakably good. You glanced at your watch and winced, wondering where the time had gone. He was going to be upset you had allowed yourself to be coaxed into going drinking again, and now it was past midnight. You clamored up the stairs anyway, spirits refusing to be dampened by the anger you knew would be coming. Once he heard the reason for celebration his anger would fade; you were sure of this. Your key slid into the door noisily and after a moment you were inside, smile breaking across your face. You slipped your jacket off, it was especially cold tonight, and then your shoes before heading down the hall. You had planned to head to the bathroom and shower before slipping into bed, but the door was partly open and you couldn't resist peaking in on your surely sleeping lover.
You nudged the door until it was more than halfway open and stepped in, a soft smile already on your face at the picture he would present. The smile froze and slipped off. Your heart paused as if in shock and then sped up. You forgot how to breathe. Your gaze slipped to his eyes and suddenly you were cold. That look, the one you had foolishly thought was for you only, was on his face. Those eyes you loved to stare into were half-lidded and his cheeks were flushed, mouth partly open and plump from what you knew from experience to be passionate kisses. You couldn't move. You were cold and you were hot.
Your heart couldn't decide if it wanted to stop or beat out of your chest. It was masochistic to watch and yet you couldn't look away. Then his head happened to turn and he caught sight of you in the doorway. He froze as you locked eyes. There were many emotions in that stare; surprise, lust, and even fear. But there was no guilt. That is what you remember the most. He had no guilt for what he was doing. His lips move and you recognize he is saying your name, but at some point your hearing must have left because you can't hear over the sound of your erratic breathing and pounding heart. He moves from the bed, his partner sitting there and looking guilty, and reaches for you. You take a step back. Then another. It takes a moment before your brain realizes you can once again move, but once it does you're running. You never even had time to notice the other person.
You don't know how long you've been sitting on the ground, but by the time you try to stand the cold has seeped into your bones and your muscles are locked up, protesting the movement. You decide not to fight them and sink back down. You're freezing, your brain points out. You can't find it in you to care. At some point you must have cried, based on the coolness of your cheeks and the way the world is blurry.
You can't remember. You stand and take a few steps, wobbling slightly before your knees give out and you crash to the ground. Pain shoots up your leg and you involuntarily cry out. You move your leg until it's in front of you and notice the new rip in your jeans in slowly being dyed red. But then it doesn't matter anymore, because you realize your thoughts aren't rushing around anymore. Your heart isn't lead in your chest and you can breathe again. You're aware it was the pain that jarred you from the haze that had settled over you, but you don't dwell on that fact. You take a moment to think about the next course of action before standing, carefully this time, and beginning the walk back home. Behind you, the sun starts its slow rise into the sky.
x-x-x-x
When I arrive home it's to find all the lights are still on and he is waiting for me on the couch. He jumps up as I enter and I take a moment to look in his eyes. There's still no guilt. Before he can open his mouth I hold up a hand. "It never happened." He appears momentarily shocked and I take this as my chance to walk past him into the bathroom. I avoid looking towards the closed bedroom door. "What do you mean it never happened?" I turn the knobs until I have the water going full blast and look over at him. "I'm giving you a way out." With that said I turn back and pull my shirt over my head and glance in the mirror.
He's still standing there. I ignore him and glance at my reflection. Blue lips aren't a good sign, I think as I deftly pull off my bloodied jeans and boxers. I examine the scrape and notice it's worse than I originally thought. I entertain the idea of asking him to bring me the alcohol and a bandage but I don't want to speak with him more than necessary, so I go past him once more to bring the items into the bathroom. I sit them on the sink and step into the shower. I wash off quickly, the burn in my leg increasing with each second.
I get out and grab a towel, patting half-heartedly at the droplets and shivering before moving past him and pausing. I'm not ready to go into the bedroom. Instead I wrap the towel around me and go back into the bathroom, dumping peroxide over the cut before I have time to think about it. I hiss through clenched teeth as it burns and bubbles up, the towel catching the drops as they slide down my leg. I reach for bandages but he already has them and he moves my hand and starts wrapping it without a word. He finishes in silence and walks out, returning in seconds with fresh clothes. "I'll be in the living room." He murmurs, glancing up briefly before walking out.
I stand there confused long after he's gone. I was so ready to just forget about it and move on. Whether moving on meant going or staying I hadn't yet decided, but either way I was ready to forgive and forget. And he had to go and fuck that all up, just like he always does. Because no matter which way I looked at it, there was no denying the look in his eye. Guilt. I huffed and walked into the living room.
He was sitting on the couch, eyes cast downward and the picture of innocence. I didn't trust him for a moment. "I didn't mean for it to happen." He said as soon as my footsteps ceased. "We were waiting for you and one thing lead to another and then she-" I'm not aware I make a sound until his words stop. "She?" I ask through clenched teeth. "What happened to gay?" He winced. "I am." I snarl this time, hurt slowly fading to the background. "I saw the look in your eyes." He doesn't answer, and a new thought comes to me. "Who is she?" He shakes his head wordlessly and I'm holding him up by his collar in the next second. "Who is she?" I bellow, and it's honest fear in his eyes this time.
Some part of my idly wonders why this is the first time I can ever remember seeing this emotion when he answers. I slide to the ground, dropping him on my way. My strength has all left me and I slump over, not even wincing as my head hits the ground. He's beside me, anxiety in his voice as he raises me up but I hardly notice. I feel dead as I realize I've just been betrayed, and not even by just one person. As he staggers with me to the now hated bedroom his word repeats in my head, like a mantra, until I fall asleep from sheer mental exhaustion.
Sakura.