Kiss You Goodnight.

It’s night.

I know this because of the harsh fluorescents sneaking their way through the window, as opposed to pleasant rays of sun. It’s late, too, and I know that because those fluorescents have been on for a very, very long time. It has to be at least three in the morning, but I won’t look at the clock.

The room is a mess, and when I leave I’ll have a hell of a time trying to find my coat and shoes and hat and gloves and scarf and every other thing you need to venture out into that biting wind. I won’t get up to find them, though, because if I do and he wakes I’ll break down on the spot.

My side of the bed is empty, and I’m sitting on this wicker chair in the corner. It’s a risk, because he won’t get to sleep as fast if I’m not there with him, warming the covers. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take, because I wouldn’t be able to get out of that bed without him waking up, and I’d never even work up the courage to do that in the first place because he’d be next to me.

So I isolate myself, across the room, watching. I’ve been sitting here, in this ugly wicker chair, for four nights in a row. I’m waiting for Danny to fall asleep already. For four nights in a row I’ve sat, making up excuses for myself. No, he twitched. No, his breathing changed just there. No, he’s getting up in an hour and I want to be long gone. No, no, no, no, no. I’m being paranoid. I’m making up too many excuses for myself being a coward.

And now I stand, finally, finally. My legs tremble beneath me, so ready. I’ll do it.

I’ll do it.

But I falter again, and my knees give out, and still I’m sitting on that hard, ugly wooden wicker chair.



Morning now, and I haven’t slept a wink. I’m nursing a cup of coffee, even though I’ve never drank coffee in my life and probably never will. Danny won’t wake up until eleven, at least, unless he has to work. My coffee has been between my chapped hands for about a half hour, and I haven’t taken one sip. It’s probably cold now, and I should probably dump it out.

I hear our bedroom door creak down the hall, and Danny apparently has to work. He walks with his eyes half closed, shirtless, pantless, into the kitchen. His feet pad over the dozens of rugs, his rugs, that cover the wood floor. His hair would be sticking straight up if it weren’t for the buzz cut I told him not to get.

Now he’s backtracked over into the hallway, rummaging through the closet, pulling on a pair of pants. He sidesteps one of the many stacks of books on our flat, the many stacks of my books, and comes in the entryway again, looking slightly more awake.

“Damn, Lisa, I don’t know how you do it. You’re up until I fall asleep, and dressed before I wake up. You need to rest.”

He obviously hasn’t noticed I’m wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday.

“I’m worried about you,” he concludes, his eyes searching my face for a second, as if that would give any clues. He then turns to the cabinet for cereal.

God, I didn’t deserve that worry. What I’m doing will be all for the better. Maybe if I keep repeating that to myself I’ll believe it.

Just do it to hisface. Don’t be a coward!

But I am a coward. I could never watch Danny crumble. So it would continue, pretending I was sneaking out in the dead of night until I actually got the guts to do it.

Or until Danny finds me in my wooden chair, nodded off, suitcase packed and ready. Chilled at the thought, I resolve myself. Yes, tonight. Tonight will be the night.

Danny, having fixed and eaten his breakfast during the sleep-induced stupor I’d drifted into, comes up, sock-footed, behind me. I can feel his breath on my neck, and another chill runs through me.

“You’re so tense…” His nose gently brushes the skin on my neck. My shoulders stiffen almost immediately. God, not this. I can’t handle this.

“Oh, don’t be like that.” He sounds exasperated. “Loosen up, Lisa. Relax.” He turns me around in the chair, making me face those eyes, that jawline. “You need to let yourself go a little.”

I bite my lip. I want to give in to him, to tell him everything I’d planned, but I can’t. This is for me, to build myself up. I can’t depend on him anymore, no matter how good it is. How absolutely perfect it is.

We would’ve fallen apart anyways, I tell myself. I’m too much of a masochist to let someone sweep my off my feet. It’d gone on for two and a half years, and now it has to stop. No matter how good it feels, no matter how much I want it.

His jaw is set, eyes hard and questioning. Studying my face for the slightest clue, an inkling of a hint. My eyes flash to his lips, which are now thin and tight, usually smiling. I want to kiss him, reassure him, but I refrain.

He’d caught on to my train of thought, though, and thinking we could always talk later, he abandons the down-to-business look. He kisses for me, arms light on my waist. And God, my resolve almost melts then and there.

This will be the last kiss, I tell myself.



My fingers pinch the skin of my thigh as hard as they possibly can, because I have to stay awake. I have to.

Danny is relaxed in bed, but he isn’t moving, a sign that I think surely means he’s awake, mulling over the day, or perhaps the conversation we didn’t have. The one we’d never have.

These are the last hours, spent idly watching, waiting for a sign to move. I don’t deserve to sit here, don’t deserve to look at him like this. But it’s all I have left. I need to.

Danny always sleeps like he’s in a coffin when he’s upset. Instead of fitful tosses and turns, he stays rigid, back turned away from me and arm propped up under the pillow. You’d think he was just brooding, but he would actually be sleeping.

A jolt of adrenaline rushes through me as I realize this; this is my chance! My knees and ankles pop as I rise from my seat, feet tingling as I step silently across the worn wooden floor. Over the years-past calendars I’d refused to throw out, avoid the creaky spot by maneuvering onto the rug. Pick up the suitcase. Pink; it’s pink and old, the color hardly there anymore. But I know what color it is, because that was the only suitcase I could find the night I’d finally had enough of that life, the night I’d given in to Danny’s requests, to Danny’s worries, to Danny’s pleas…

Then, this was the place I ran to. Now this is the place I’m leaving. Leaving behind the stacks of dog-eared books, the candles we never lit, the layer upon layer of ugly Oriental rugs from when Danny had worked at that secondhand carpet store.

Now I don’t know where I’ll go. Then I had had a perfect idea, an idea that had actually worked until now.

Locate my sweater and my shoes. Pick my way over to them, dodging clothes and odds and ends, skirting around every floorboard that makes so much as a squeak. Heart pounding in my ears, I step over the threshold of the bedroom door.

I move quickly now, out of Danny’s direct vicinity. My breathing speeds, and my steps grow the tiniest bit out of control. I was one step away from the doorknob when something caught my eye: Danny’s record.

Danny has a record collection. Not for the artwork, or the music; all he wants is the records. He loves how they look, how they feel. He has everything from brand-new vinyl releases to ancient 36’s, so old it looks like they could crumble to dust between his careful fingers.

This particular record, this is Danny’s absolute favorite. It’s a lone disc, found in a plastic bag next to the dumpster two blocks down. No cover, though it wasn’t like Danny kept those anyways. No markings. Perfect condition. It’s a mystery, and Danny cherishes it.

And I am about to step on that record, shatter it to pieces. I divert my step at the last moment, narrowly avoiding clipping the edge.

But in the hasty, stupid action, my heel clicks against the tiny space of hardwood floor uncovered by rugs.

I freeze. Instantly, it seems as if my hearing kicks up several notches. Am I really breathing so loudly? Can my heart really be heard thumping like a jackhammer in my chest? It was a miracle Danny hadn’t awoken.

My eyes never looked at the clock, but I stood there for twenty minutes. Nothing stirred. I had moved as if to take the last step when I was interrupted.

“Lisa.”

Simply a statement. No accusation. Nothing there but a name, calling to me, telling me to acknowledge him, standing at the bedroom doorway where he’d been all along, watching my strange progression.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” The quiet whisper carries far, burning the tips of my ears as if he were right next to me, shouting.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice shaking dangerously. He is going to ruin this. One word and I’d be running back to bed, back to my life with him.

Three nearly silent footsteps, and he’s an inch behind me. His hand touches my shoulder, fingers pressing lightly into my shirt.

“Do you want to tell me why?”

I swallow. “No.”

“Do you want me to just leave you alone and let you go?”

My tense muscles quiver at that point, tempted to turn and look if he was serious, if he was going to let me get off this easy. But my legs feel locked in place, and I can hardly move or respond at all. A strange sound escapes my lips, cut off almost as soon as it starts.

“Actually, I should probably say… Do you expect me to just leave you alone and let you go?” There’s something almost like humor in his voice. His fingers press harder into my shirt, urging me to turn around. “Because I won’t. And you know that.”

“Fuck, Danny.” My legs whirl around gracefully, almost of their own accord. My voice is strained and high. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see why I– Why you–?”

He waits patiently, but even I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I sputter for several more seconds before he silences me with another hand on my shoulder.

“If this is about you learning to stand up for yourself… You can do it without leaving.”

I shake my head, because he’s the only person I know how to stand up to. The only person I’ve come close enough to for it to make a difference, make the slightest change.

“Your parents… Your mom, your dad, they–”

I shake my head even more violently, my teeth biting my lip as hard as they can. I would not see them again. That much was decided when I ran away the first time.

Danny’s hand moves from my shoulder to my neck, and he leans his forehead against mine. His face is temptingly close. Again, I want so badly to kiss those lips, but I won’t let myself. And this time Danny won’t make a move for me.

He waits, and I’m impatient. I want to be gone before the light comes. With dawn comes exposure, and I never want to see how truly imperfect I am, or he is, or we are together.

I taste blood on my tongue.

“If this is about courage, I’ll let you go. Go, Lisa. You need to learn how to be yourself. You need to work it out, I know that. I can see it. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He heaves a huge sigh, and it blows across my face like a hurricane, his breath sweet like rain.

“Go,” he whispers, one last time. And I flee.

The time on the wall reads 4:04, and there isn't a clock in sight.