‹ Prequel: Regret
Sequel: The Perfect ›
Happy New Year
Happy New Year
She looked up at him, fighting down the burning ache in her throat caused by tears that she refused to allow to fall.
“Is there any part of you that still loves me at all?” she whispered, her voice failing her and cracking. She already knew the answer. She had known it for a while, really. But she needed him to say it.
“I…” he began, avoiding her gaze, “I value your friendship… more than you realise. I just don’t know if I love you like I used to.” Instead of bursting into tears, she found herself impossibly angry by this.
“Value my friendship? Why didn’t you tell me the moment you stopped loving me, Mark? Why act all distant and overload me with excuses? Why is it so hard to say ‘Daria, I don’t love you anymore”?” that was when she started crying, burying her face in the palm of her hand, when she spoke again, it came out as a sob, muffled by her tears and the hand that hid them from him, “What now?”
“I don’t know.” Mark murmured, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t you see?” she protested, “No matter what you do, you are going to hurt me. Don’t prolong the pain, Mark. Don’t keep me hanging here, hoping.”
“I can’t do this.” The lack of emotion in his voice made Daria physically sick.
“If you can’t,” she said, letting tears dry and stick to her face, “Then I will. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay with somebody who doesn’t love me. I really think this is it.” Now it was her who couldn’t meet his eye.
“You know,” Mark said, emotionless still, “It doesn’t mean we’ll stay apart forever. The human life expectancy exceeds high school.”
For a mad moment, Daria forgot that this was a break up, and internally scoffed at his poor phrasing. Then it all hit her, and the burning was back at her throat, tearing its nails down her oesophagus.
“Don’t put that on me, Mark.” She walked away from him then, holding her head up as high as she could manage at the time. Only when he was out of sight did she burst into tears, staring up at the starry sky above as it was lit by a crack and streaks of fire.
“Happy fucking New Year.” She whispered to herself, feeling a heaviness settle on her chest as she laid back and watched the fireworks.
“Is there any part of you that still loves me at all?” she whispered, her voice failing her and cracking. She already knew the answer. She had known it for a while, really. But she needed him to say it.
“I…” he began, avoiding her gaze, “I value your friendship… more than you realise. I just don’t know if I love you like I used to.” Instead of bursting into tears, she found herself impossibly angry by this.
“Value my friendship? Why didn’t you tell me the moment you stopped loving me, Mark? Why act all distant and overload me with excuses? Why is it so hard to say ‘Daria, I don’t love you anymore”?” that was when she started crying, burying her face in the palm of her hand, when she spoke again, it came out as a sob, muffled by her tears and the hand that hid them from him, “What now?”
“I don’t know.” Mark murmured, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t you see?” she protested, “No matter what you do, you are going to hurt me. Don’t prolong the pain, Mark. Don’t keep me hanging here, hoping.”
“I can’t do this.” The lack of emotion in his voice made Daria physically sick.
“If you can’t,” she said, letting tears dry and stick to her face, “Then I will. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay with somebody who doesn’t love me. I really think this is it.” Now it was her who couldn’t meet his eye.
“You know,” Mark said, emotionless still, “It doesn’t mean we’ll stay apart forever. The human life expectancy exceeds high school.”
For a mad moment, Daria forgot that this was a break up, and internally scoffed at his poor phrasing. Then it all hit her, and the burning was back at her throat, tearing its nails down her oesophagus.
“Don’t put that on me, Mark.” She walked away from him then, holding her head up as high as she could manage at the time. Only when he was out of sight did she burst into tears, staring up at the starry sky above as it was lit by a crack and streaks of fire.
“Happy fucking New Year.” She whispered to herself, feeling a heaviness settle on her chest as she laid back and watched the fireworks.