For the last 15 minutes or so, you've been pacing up and down the hallway. Your best friend has left without saying goodbye and hasn't even told you where she went. You're not even sure how long she's been gone, so you're worried sick. And apparently, staring down hard at the doorknob won't make her magically appear either. You've tried calling her, but she won't answer her phone.
A half an hour later, after you've made your way to the living room when you decided it would be better to sit down, you can hear the key being pushed into the lock. Quickly thereafter, the door opens and closes.
"Hey!", she shouts a little out of breath, "you up?"
"What took you so long?", you shout back, greeting her pleasantly with your hands onto your hips.
"Woah. I take it your nap didn't go so well", she places a couple of familiar looking bags on the floor and tries –unsuccessfully- to hide the playful smirk plastered upon her face.
"My nap was just fine. It was waking up in an empty house that didn't set so well with me"
"Chill. Cheeto was here, wasn't he?", she pats the greyhound named "Cheeto" on the back before squatting down, "Who's a good boy? Yes, you are! You're such a good boy!".
You roll your eyes at her, "You know what I mean. Something bad could've happened to you"
"Oh, come on", she rises to her feet, picks up the bags again and passes you, "we're not exactly living a horror movie here. Relax"
"What have you been doing? You reek of alcohol", you say as you cross your arms, all the while you're following her footsteps.
"And cigarettes, I bet", she looks at you and you nod back, "I've been getting your stuff from… you know who…"
Even though she doesn't mention his name, you know who she's referring to. Your eyes immediately focus onto the floor.
"Right…", you quietly say.
"Yeah, I figured you didn't want to deal with him anymore. At least, not now, with the baby being almost due and all. It's not something you need."
You quietly nod, agreeing. You follow her to the guest room, where you're currently staying at, in complete silence. Not a single word is spoken. Not even when your friend starts to unpack your bags. The unspoken tension between the two of you starts to brew, until you can't take it any longer. Your arms are still crossed and you're chewing nervously onto your lower lip, but you have to know.
"How is he?"
"I think it's best if we don't talk about him. Knowing you, you'll feel bad for the guy…"
"That bad, huh?"
"What can I say? He's a mess", she stops for a brief moment before continuing, it's as though she's thinking about what to say next, "but that might have something to do with me giving him the divorce papers…"
"Take it from me: he was not too pleased"
"You're still here?", he says matter-of-factly, not actually caring or anything. He just wants her gone. Out of the house. His house. Now.
"Before you throw me out", she ruffles through her bag to retrieve a stack of papers, "You might want to take a look at this"
She looks at him with a huge grin spread across her face as she holds the stack out in front of her, ready to give it to him. She's clearly enjoying – no, loving this. If she can't have him, after he rejected her, she needs to get her revenge in any way she sees fit. And what's more perfect than to see the look of distraught on his face when she presents him with the very thing that'll destroy his once-assumed future, the supposed happy end to his fairytale? A fairytale that's crumbling down from the very ground, from its very foundation? God, how he would love to wipe that shit eating grin off of her jealous face right now.
"What's that?", he carefully asks. His eyes cautiously regard the papers, but not quite yet releasing it from her grip. He doesn't even want to touch it. He prefers to burn it, all the way down to its ashes. That sudden gut-wrenching feeling that starts to bubble in his lower abdomen tells him exactly what it is. And deep down, he knows what it is. This is too soon, too real. Not yet. It's only as though he needs some sort of sign, some vocal confirmation to tell him this isn't real, telling him that he's dreaming or hallucinating. As though he secretly hopes it's something entirely else. But it's not.
"The divorce papers", she says, eyes twinkling brightly in joy as she adds emphasis to each horrible, god-forsaken word, "if you could sign them as soon as possible, that'd be great".
"… yeah", he says defeated, nodding lightly as she ruthlessly shoves the papers in his hands. Everything has slow down, and his world and surroundings seem to be running on a different velocity than usual. He slowly directs his gaze at the bundle below. The heading, too relentlessly emphasized for his likings, says "divorcing papers". It starts to dawn upon him. This is it. This is the end. Tears starts to well up in his eyes, his lower lip slightly trembling. He tries to fight them back, desperately holding them in because he's in company, and he doesn't want her, out of all people, to catch on this sign of weakness, the sign of a broken man who was once so fierce and mighty. Not now. Not him. She merely smirks deviously at the perplexed man before her. She then turns her heel and gets the fuck out of there, as the tears start to flow down his face, despite the objections and reluctance. They fulfill the tale of a lonely, heartbroken man.
You slowly inhale, taking in a deep breath to prevent the sudden surge of anger from overtaking your body, "You did what?"
"I….", she tries, but cleverly stops herself. She then simply shrugs it off, "I thought it'd be for the best to get rid of it straightaway"
"He's the father of my child and obviously not coping so well with recent events, which is only normal for someone in his position. Goddamnit. We've talked about this. I thought we'd agreed to do this after the baby was born"
"I'm sorry, I really did think –"
You cut her off, "Yeah, that's your problem: you're not listening and thinking too much about your own interests. I specifically told you not to, yet you do it anyways – behind my back!"
You furiously storm out of the room, leaving a certain someone particularly confused yet offended behind.
"What… just… happened?"