Smoke Rings
This had been a long time coming. The spark had disappeared and it was all his fault. He'd spent so much time unsure, unaware that he really loved her, he'd spent so much time pushing her away he'd finally done it. She was an angel, and he was a redneck asshole who wasn't going anywhere. She'd tried over and over again to make him love her, but he couldn't. He wouldn't do that to her. He wouldn't condemn her to a life where she wouldn't get everything she ever deserved.
He was sitting on the front porch, smoking, his cigarette burning slow as he sipped on the whiskey in his hand. This was going to be the last night he sat on her front steps. It was dragging on and on. He knew he needed to cut to the chase. Knew he needed to leave. He blew a smoke ring and watched it float higher and higher, expanding before exhaling the rest of the smoke in his lungs, flicking his cigarette into the road. This was it.
He walked back into the house and headed back to her room. He knelt in front of her, brushing hair away from her face. He didn't want to wake her. He was just going to slip away. He knew she'd cry, knew she'd be heartbroken, but he'd killed the spark before it had even had time to burn and now he was going to ease her pain. He was just going to disappear. He picked up his things and walked out. He was halfway to his car before he heard the door open. "Daryl," she called out softly. He turned and looked at her, standing there in her silk nightgown, her hair a wild tangle of a mess around her shoulders. He didn't say anything. She deserved better than him. He got in his car and pulled away.