The alarm on her phone sounded at exactly nine AM. Slowly, she arose and dressed herself. He lay in bed, staring at the wall. He let out a faux cough, perhaps simply to break the unsettling silence. They were reticent towards one another. Once dressed, she opened the bedroom door and turned to him.
“I’m ready to go,” she said.
“I’ll show you out,” he responded.
In the front of the apartment he opened the door to the cold dampness. A somber gray engulfed the world before them. Slowly melting icicles hung along the railway and here and there one would break off and shatter on the paved walkway. They said goodbye, nothing more, as she stepped into the slush and trudged towards her car. It was the first time since they had met nearly a month that they had parted ways without so much as kissing each other. He gazed, stone faced, as she disappeared around the corner of his apartment building and he pondered how the affection between the two of them could have diminished so quickly.
He returned to his warm bedroom. The space heater reverberated a calming ambient hum. He lay back in his bed and reflected on the weeks gone by.
“Things changed so quickly,” he thought.
He promptly recounted each of the occurrences that had led up to this point. Each tryst, each grilled cheese the morning after, each vodka tonic that they had shared. He recalled how she had chosen him, of all her suitors that night that they first met. How she entrusted him with her intimacies and secrets. How she was comfortable around him. She had made him feel proud of himself.
One relic he quickly noticed that she had left behind was her scent. It dwelled in his bed where she had lain. It was an effortlessly sweet aura complemented by a subtle winter sting. It was an amorous fragrance, provocative yet soothing. It gave their time together an even greater halcyon quality. Smelling it induced a revelation that slightly frightened him, he missed her. Or, more specifically, he missed her presence. Though young, he had spent the entirety of his existence sans romance. He had pursued it, of course. But each time it was to no avail. He knew what it meant to be in love, he even knew the sensation of naked exposure that germinated from the embarrassment of rejection. But he didn’t know what it meant to prosper. He wondered if that was why he had been so quick to espouse their partnership.
“Have I wronged her? Was I misleading?”
These and thousands of other questions and musings clouded his mind. He recounted every word of the dialogue their first night together. He had told her that he didn’t want a girlfriend. His studies at the university and his job at the bistro took up too much of his time. When the semester began anew, he would be virtually unreachable. He wouldn’t be able to offer enough and it would be unfair to her. It didn’t bother her, she felt and candidly spoke the same way. Besides, she was to soon study abroad. They were each careful to never refer to one another as “boyfriend,” or “girlfriend.” However, they remained faithful to one another, never sleeping with anyone else, confiding in each other, and scrupulous to always make time for the other. This was the foundation for their affair. It was to be empty, but it was an honest emptiness. This honesty led to his decision. He could sense that what was between them had grown and changed. They were violating their agreement. They were beginning to care too much for one another. Their mutual fondness had reached a dangerous level of affinity. He felt that he had no choice in the matter, he ended it.
He didn’t mind that she wished to stay for one last night, if only to silently console themselves through embracement. It was unspoken that that was what they both desired. It was the most dejecting night of their lives. He held her tight as she quietly wept into his shoulder and he struggled not to forlornly break down and follow suit. Upon her concurrence with his decision, and a request to stay the night, they said nothing to each other. Not until the morning when she left.
He lay there, coming to terms with the blunt fact that he wouldn’t see her for a long time, if ever again. He was sure he would miss her, but it was a pain he knew he could weather. It would only be a fraction of the suffering that they would both be subjected to, should they have continued. He knew she didn’t want things to be finished. But she cared for him enough to release him. He finally understood what it meant to hurt someone. He finally knew the abhorrent guilt that burdened one who truly grieved another. To grieve another that he had come to care for immensely. He reached out to lay his hand on her pillow.
The space heater ceased to hum. The room was silent and static. He was alone.
-Graham Cohen
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