Water dripped from the edges of my coat as I stood in the big, too brightly lit living room of my house. My hair was plastered to my forehead, and droplets fell in irregular rhythms onto the hardwood floor. I made no move to take off my coat or even wring it out. I simply stood there, exhausted, emotionally and physically. Seeing Rosie shocked me.
She sat on the sofa, her arms crossed. Her smirk was as sharp as a blade, cutting through the thick silence that had settled between us. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic, didn’t you?” she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Showing up looking like a drowned rat. Very poetic.”
I didn’t respond. My eyes flicked briefly to the corner of the room where my girlfriend sat quietly on a faded armchair. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, her face unreadable as she observed the scene before her.
“Nothing to say?” the woman on the sofa continued, arching an eyebrow. “No clever retort? No righteous indignation? That’s not like you. What’s wrong? Did the rain wash all the fight out of you?”
I sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the small space. She couldn’t know, that that’s exactly what happened while I was outside in the rain.
“I have no interest to fight, Rosie.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as if I had used up all I had a long time ago.
“Oh, but fighting was always your favorite thing to do with me,” she shot back, her tone light but her eyes glinting with something darker. “Don’t act like you’re above it now. We both know how much you loved playing the victim.”
I rubbed a hand over his face, smearing the raindrops but making no effort to dry them. “That’s not how I remember it.”
Her laugh was sharp and humorless. “That’s the new you, isn’t it? Mr. Maturity. Mr. I’ve-Moved-On. Except you’re standing there like a drowned dog. Dripping all over the floor.”
“I don’t see how that is relevant,” he said, his tone neutral. “I live here. There’s nothing else.”
She unfolded her arms and got up from the sofa, moving towards me, her voice lowering but losing none of its edge. “Nothing else? That’s rich. After everything we went through, you’re going to stand there and pretend like none of it mattered?”
I met her gaze for the first time, my expression calm but resolute. “It mattered. But not in the way you think.”
Her smirk faltered for a moment, and something flickered across her face—hurt, maybe, or anger. It was hard to tell. But she recovered quickly, masking it with a scoff. “Typical. You always did have a talent for being the bigger person, didn’t you? Or at least pretending to be.”
The silence stretched again, heavy and uncomfortable. My girlfriend in the armchair shifted slightly but said nothing, her eyes darting between us. She seemed like a ghost, present but not involved, a quiet witness to a scene that felt all too familiar to me.
Finally, I moved. I turned back toward the door, opening it. “Take care of yourself, Rosie,” I said, my voice soft but firm.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm once more. “I’ve been doing just fine without you.”
But as the door creaked open, she stepped forward, her expression shifting from defiance to desperation. “Wait,” she said, her voice softer now. “I didn’t mean…” She hesitated, her eyes darting to the woman on the armchair before returning to him. “I came back because I… I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you go. We can try again, can’t we? Fix it? Us?”
I froze, my back to her. The rain outside roared in the silence that followed. Slowly, I turned, my expression unreadable but tired. “Rosie,” I began, my tone careful but firm, “it’s over. It’s been over for a long time. You left. And now… I’ve moved on.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them away, her lips curling into a bitter smile. She has always been able to make her eyes tearing up on command.
“Moved on?” she repeated, glancing pointedly at my girlfriend. “With her, I see. Must be nice to be so replaceable.”
My jaw tightened, but I didn’t rise to the bait. “This isn’t about her. This is about us. And the truth is, you were not good for me. I don’t care if you cannot see that.”
She stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield against my words. “So that’s it?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “You’re just going to send me away?”
“Yes,” I said simply. “I’m asking you to go. Please, Rosie.”
The finality in my tone seemed to drain the fight out of her. She looked away, her smirk long gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. “Fine,” she whispered, barely audible. “I will go.”
But to my surprise she went into the kitchen.
~ Read the conclusion in The end. ~
