Please Be There

He called me a slut, a whore. He told me he never wanted to see me again, telling me anything to have me running, tears streaming down my face. My brain can't handle this, this rejection. After two years he calls it quits, telling me he never wanted to see my sorry ass again.

It never really sunk in that he dumped me until now. That it was over and out, broken in two, broken until your heart turns blue. My heart is ice, all the heat and warmth sucked out of me. He took it and stored it in a freezer that day, giving it back to me dead and worthless, the arteries and veins so purple and still, the muscle no longer beating. The happiness and fond memories were gone, replaced by the vile words that came out of his mouth.

You'll never be worth anything to me.

It ran through my head in a sickening marquee, lighting up for my irises to see. Lighting up for my brain to process over and over and over again. He never told me why, he just told me I was worthless and dead to him.

I supported him in anything he did, even helping with the rent when it got too much for him. I was employed, though I only got paid minimum wage. I gave him all that I had, and it wasn't good enough for him.

He didn't want me, even though I was happy and content just being with him, hanging out with a movie. My chest heaves to even think about it now. I swallow back the lump in my throat, biting my lip to keep the tears from spilling onto my cheeks.

Too late.

I close my eyes in anguish, a quiet sob escaping my mouth. My knees up to my chest in fetal position, the sheets of the bed strewn around me. I'm not something you want to see. No one wants to see me like this. He didn't. He pushed the red button, detonating our relationship and putting my emotions into overdrive. He knew I'd run away, not wanting him to see me so broken down.

The red-head knew me too well. He knew I gave everything to him. That I love him, and want to be with him. I know that he cared for me, even when he spat out inhumane word vomit at me to get me to run.

I'm a worthless piece of space. I don't deserve to get my hopes up that he would come running back. Coming back to say that he's sorry for all the things he said and that he'd take the words back, all of it, to be with me again. I don't deserve to know the reason, hoping that I can fix it and that we'd be together again.

The monster of broken hearts is raring it's ugly head. Hope is slowly spreading in me, and the monster is there to take down the city of memories if my lover states that he doesn't want me, and that I was useless in trying to bring the two of us back together again.

Wiping the wet tears and debris from my eye, I sit up on the bed, throwing on anything within reach. I didn't care what I wore, and I don't give two shits if he cares. Sighing, I realized I would care if he thought I looked horrible. I looked in the mirror, and decided changing what I wore would be a good idea.

Once I had something better on I ran a hand through my hair, and tried my best to hide the redness around my eye. Better, I decided, and walked out of the door, out of the apartment. To our old home, the one I called ours.

I hoped he was home. I hope he was there with an explanation, with a sad heart that wanted me back as much as I wanted him back. I got out the key I still had for the home, climbing up the steps.

Each step up was like a ticking time bomb. the ringing doorbell was the last few seconds before the bomb ignited.

Would he be there to set it off, or would he stop the ticking and throw it far away, it igniting far away from us?

My savior opened the door, his eyes as bloodshot as a clot in a heart attack patient. His eyes lit up, and he reached forward and hugged me tight.

"I'm sorry, Roxas. Terribly, terribly sorry."

I hoped he'd say that.