"You don't have to make that face. Jesus, if you don't wanna be here just leave, you're not tied to the chair."
He turns away from me, and I'm shocked to see something glisten on his cheek as he does.
"Are you… crying?"
Somehow more startling than the tears is the fact that he just… doesn't answer me. Usually he would revolt at even the slightest hint that he was showing any of his 'soft' sides. Hours of jabs, curses, and sparring back and forth with the most venomous of vitriol- yet this is what gets me the silence I thought I wanted. I wait, but whole minutes tick by with still nothing.
"… Inuyasha?"
The longer the silence goes on, the more on edge I become. Soon I feel frustration, maybe even fury, drip back into my veins. I hate being ignored more than anything. Especially now.
My tone is sharp enough to cut even myself when I speak again.
"If we're done here, you could just say so instead of ignoring me. That way neither of us wastes so much time."
I see his shoulders tense, and I'm almost meanly glad; yet still, he says nothing.
I wait another minute, then stand and reach for my jacket.
"Well, I'd say this has been fun, but I detest lying. I'll text you later to schedule when I can come get my things. Please answer when I do."
Shit. I didn't want my voice to sound like that, raw and broken and almost pleading. I hate how I turn into a crumbling mess in front of him at the first hint of us parting ways… even when I'm the one that starts it.
Predictably, he doesn't answer me, and I tell myself that it wouldn't matter if he did anyway. I snatch my jacket and pull it on, heading to the entryway of his little apartment so fast that I'm almost running. I probably look stupid; even so, I can't quite force myself to slow down. I drag my boots on, zip them up most of the way, and make sure I have my phone and keys. Of course I do. I'm always prepared. I'm always put together.
One of the things he hates about you, hisses the voice in my head. Perfect little princess.
"Don't go," Inuyasha whispers. His voice is so quiet that I barely catch it. If I pretend I didn't hear him, it would be believable.
I turn to look at him a little too quickly. "What?"
He's still on the couch, body turned away from where I was once sitting, his hair falling into his face as he stares at the ground. He looks like a shell of the man I once adored; curled in on himself as though he's afraid of being struck. His elbows rest on his knees, and his hands are clutching something I can't quite make out (I don't care what it is, I tell myself). He doesn't say anything, and he certainly doesn't look at me.
Fine.
I stand and brush myself off.
"Please don't message me unless its got something to do with my things or the company. Do not call me. I'll do my best to avoid you at work, but if we bump into each other I won't say anything and I ask you not to talk to me either." I pause here, giving him one last chance to say something… anything.
He nods.
I need to leave. Now. I refuse to break down here; not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.
"Goodbye, Inuyasha." I love you. I love you. I love you.
I unlock the door smoothly, open it easily. I don't wait any longer; I leave.
Close the door. Let go of the handle. Don't wait; walk. Keep going. Press the button for the elevator. Down. Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't. Look. Back.
I hate how I'm straining to hear something, anything, from inside that tiny apartment. That stupid, outdated apartment that he can never seem to let go of. More money, more opportunity, same rundown shoe box to live in. Is it so hard to-
Shhh. Don't think about it.
The elevator dings cheerily as it stops, opening the doors to welcome me in.
I hate how I hesitate.
Would anything change if I turned around right now? If I ran back to the door that I know he hasn't locked? If I opened it and flew into his arms, flew into a rage, sobbed, screamed, begged?
If I told him I love him, would it be enough to save this?
…. No. Sometimes love just isn't enough.
The elevator doors start to close, and I push my hand against one to stop them. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Once I feel a little more collected, I step inside, squishing into the back corner even though I'm the only one here. I press the button for the ground floor, and after a few moments the doors begin to close again.
Closing on our last chance.
In a way, I think distantly, it's rather poetic.
The doors move so slowly that for a second I wonder if time has stopped. I wonder if I even want it to stop. I wonder if he meant it when he told me not to go. I wonder if it matters.
The elevator is almost closed now. I accept that there will be no turning back after this; I accept that there are many things I'll never have an answer for. I accept that I'm going to fall into the deepest pits of despair when I get home, and I accept that it'll be difficult for me to find my way out of them. I accept that it'll take a long time for me to feel okay again. That's fine, I tell myself. Wasn't this just a way to pass the time to begin with?
I hear his front door burst open.
I watch the elevator doors as they close.