Agony

Written September 14th, 3:00 a.m.

I don’t know how I function under the weight of my own agony. The air in my lungs, the beat of my heart, seem like such a mockery. The hope that refuses to die adds insult to injury. And it’s all for love. All for love.

I’m so confused and I’m so hurt. Every word that he said is a weight in my belly. I want to vomit them up, but they don’t move. I can’t scream. I can’t cry. I want to shout at the injustice of it all. I want to be angry. But I don’t have room for anger. His words, each one a razor, take up that space.

I just got out of the shower when he called. I had been waiting for his call. I told myself I wouldn’t run to him when he did, but I was getting ready to see him. I don’t know why I lie to myself. I know I don’t wear that perfume to go to bed. I wear it for him.

He asked me what I wanted. It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself for the past two weeks. I gave him the only answer I knew to give him, the only answer I knew for sure. I told him that I didn’t want to fight with him anymore.

He told me it was over. I didn’t want to fight with him. He told me he had been with another, a girl that had called herself my friend. I sat there in my towel, wearing the perfume that he likes. I sat there with my heart breaking. I could feel it, see it. My heart had left my chest and broke, right there before me.

I asked him who, but he wouldn’t say. I told him that I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him to give me my key back. He said he would tomorrow. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t lay there in bed knowing that it was over, but not over. I couldn’t let my hope live.

I told him I’d be at his place in ten minutes to get my key. I hung up the phone and grabbed some clothes. I got them on right side out and front side forward. I don’t know how. I also grabbed the book I got him. It was about how our friendship was a true one. I grabbed the movies I bought him. He loves the Rocky movies. He has them on VHS but not DVD. I got him the DVDs so he could watch them over and over. I dreamt about laying beside him on his couch and watching them with him. I love being a part of what he’s passionate about. There was no way I could keep them. I couldn’t bear the reminder of what never was.

I pulled up in front of his house. I don’t remember driving. I didn’t think about it the whole way there. Couldn’t think about it. Didn’t want to remember making the trip a million times before. Didn’t want to think about it being my last time. I think it might be illegal to drive when you’re not breathing. I couldn’t hear the sound of the engine over the sound of my blood racing though my veins. So much pressure in my head and my chest. It was agony.

I knocked on his door. No answer. I knocked again. It seemed an eternity before his door opened. I looked at his feet. I couldn’t look up. I took the key from his hand and shoved the movies and book at him. He said something then, but I couldn’t speak. I turned around and never looked up. I couldn’t bear to look at his face, at his eyes. His eyes are a soft blue and so beautiful. I didn’t feel soft. I felt hard everywhere. I didn’t feel beautiful. I couldn’t look at his eyes.

His voice followed me back to my van. I didn’t turn around and I didn’t answer. I didn’t hear his words. The pressure wouldn’t let anything in or anything out. I closed the door. The engine was still running. I buckled my seat belt. It’s automatic. It has to be. My mind wasn’t functioning. I turned on my lights. I backed away from his door. He was standing there watching me leave. I looked at my dashboard. I looked at my mirrors. I looked at his car as I backed around it. I didn’t look at his face, or his beautiful eyes.

I drove. Home was my only destination. It was over. All I had to do was push the pedal. Push it down, but not too hard. I’d be safe soon. Push the pedal, don’t think.

I heard my phone ring. I heard the song that belonged to him. I thought I had left my phone at home. It wasn’t supposed to be with me. It wasn’t supposed to ring. It wasn’t supposed to be his song. I didn’t answer. I let it ring. I should have shut it off, but I wasn’t thinking.

I parked in front of my house. I ran inside. I put my purse down on the table. I stood there. I don’t know how long. A minute? Ten? A year? The phone rang again. It was his song. It was a knife to the chest. I couldn’t stop myself. I dug it out of my pants’ pocket. I don’t remember putting it there when I got dressed. I flipped it open.

“Don’t call me anymore. Don’t call,” I begged. I snapped it shut. I threw it down on my bed and watched it like one would a poisonous snake. My stomach churned. My throat closed. Then his song played again. His name showed up on the screen with a picture of a heart. The heart was whole. I hadn’t looked at the picture I set for him in a long time. A solid heart. No tears or cracks.

I couldn’t stop myself. I opened my phone and put it to my ear. I said something. I don’t remember what. He said he was sorry. The bile rose. Hope fluttered in my aching chest. God, the agony. He told me he hadn’t slept with my friend. He had lied to hurt me. He was sorry.

My foolish heart. My foolish hope. They fluttered. I ached. I struggled not to puke. The pain was so intense. He asked me if I was still there. I said I was. I could hardly talk. My mouth was dry. It was all behind my eyes. Pressure in my head. Pressure in my chest. He was sorry. He was being a jerk. I heard the words. I wanted to tell him that I had to go. I was going to be sick. I didn’t want him to hear me be sick. My hands were shaking. I couldn’t keep the phone to my ear. I needed to let him go. It was in my brain, but it wouldn’t move to my mouth. He said some more. He asked if I was still on the phone. I mumbled a yes. He said something about being a fool. He told me he loved me. He said he’d talk to me later and hung up the phone. I flipped my phone shut. I plugged in the charger. I walked to the bathroom and threw up.

I’m still shaking. My throat burns. My eyes burn. My chest hurts. My jaw hurts. I’m clenching it. The pain is still there. The hope is still there. I don’t know which is worse. I believe that he didn’t sleep with another. I don’t want to believe. I want to throw my perfume away. I want to take his ring tone off my phone. I want to erase that perfectly whole heart. I don’t want to see his eyes when I close mine. I want to hold him, touch him, taste him. I want to hear him say I love you again. I want it to be over. I never want it to end.

The pain is still with me. I don’t know what to do. He still believes I want another. He aches with it. I want to heal him. He’ll never have faith in me, in us. It hurts so much. We have nothing without trust. But I can’t seem to let go. I’m frozen, trapped by my desire. I long to be with him, even now. I want to let him go, to save him from suffering. I want to hold him forever. My foolish, stupid hope. It hangs on like a blade of grass in a field of mud. The more the sun burns it, the more the frost bites it, the more the feet trod it, the deeper the roots grow. It refuses to die. My love refuses to die.