Nothing. At all.

His emerald green eyes stared into my hazel ones, and I felt...nothing...at all. Which confused me because in all my romance novels, when people in love looked into each others' eyes, the world fell away and it was only them. But with him...nothing...at all. I contemplated this. Maybe my friends were right. I wasn't in love like I thought. I was still with him only because he was the first man to show any interest in me in those first confusing months after discovering my sexuality. This thought annoyed me, and I glared right at him. He gulped and got this sad look in his eyes. And I just wanted to slap him. Not comfort him. Which pissed me off more because I was supposed to fucking love him. My confusion boiled into anger, causing my eyes to narrow, making him feel worse. He started tearing up. What the hell? He was supposed to be the tough one. The "Macho Man." And now he's crying cause we're breaking up?! Wait, were we breaking up? I didn't know for sure, but his blubbering wasn't helping things, and I let out a growl of sheer annoyance. He started wiping away tears and kept begging me to take him back. I hadn't realized I let him go. He tried to hold me like he used to, kiss me like he used to, but his salty tears felt and tasted gross, so I shoved him off me.
"But, babe, I promise I'll-" I just threw my hands up and yelled at him to shut up and let me fucking think. His mouth quickly closed. I sat on the armchair next to our tv and just thought of our happy moments. Only there was nothing...at all. I dug deep, but only thought of reason to leave him. I tried to debate this decision, but there was literally no part of me that wanted him. I looked at his pitiful face, hoping for some shred of love, but no, nothing...at all. He was shaking, holding back sobs, mumbling that he loved me. But I shook my head. He didn't. Not anymore. So I pointed to the door. He let loose all his sobs and ran to our room. I slowly picked myself up and walked after him, completely apathetic. I saw him crying on the bed, no doubt getting snot on the pillow, and shook my head with a sigh. As he cried, I slowly packed his things. I gently shook him and handed him the bags. He tried talking more, but I held a finger to my lips, shushing him. He nodded, finally understanding that I didn't want him. With a final sigh, he walked out of the room, then out of the apartment, then out of my life forever. And I felt nothing...at all.