The Ending I Want

I want to take the fact that she’s here as a good sign. That she’s changed her mind, but I know better than to presume things in life because, sometimes, presumption can come back to smack you in the face with reality. And she hurts like a motherfucker.

“You’re here,” I finally say because I’m a dumb fuck and because it’s all I’ve got at the moment.

Her eyes move from my face and lower to the floor, her lips pressing together, and my heart sinks.

Because, in that moment, I know she isn’t here to stay.

I rub the heel of my hand against the ache in my chest.

“You’re not staying, are you?” It’s not a question because I already know the answer. I just need to hear her say it.

I need to know why she’s here.

Her blue eyes—eyes that always make me think of the sky on a sunny day—lift back to mine.

I can see a world of sadness in them. The sadness she always thinks she’s hiding is now clear for me to see.

Taylor shakes her head, and at the same time, she quietly says, “No.” Her voice breaks on the word.

And that one single word breaks my fucking heart.

So, I do what I always do when I feel pain. I get angry.

“So, why the fuck did you come here?” I bite out.

Tears instantly shimmer in her eyes, and her lip trembles.

And I feel like a bastard, and that pain in my chest only intensifies.

She bites her lip and closes her eyes, blowing out a breath. Then, her eyes open and focus back on me. “I just…I didn’t want to leave things the way we’d left them last night.” Her voice is soft, like a whisper, but the blows that come with each word feel like hits in the face. “I didn’t want us to end like that.”

“I didn’t want us to end at all, but we don’t always get what we want.”

And I’ve boarded the train to Bitterville.

She exhales a sad sound. “I wish…” She trails off, her eyes looking away from me.

It angers and hurts me that she can’t even bring herself to look at me.

“You wish what, Taylor?” I fold my arms over my chest and make my tone sound impatient, like she’s a bore on my time. But it couldn’t be further from the truth.

She is the only way I want to spend my time. Every second of every minute of every day with her.

She is my time.

Or I wanted her to be.

Her eyes come back to me, another soft breath leaving her. “Nothing.” She slowly shakes her head. “I wish…nothing.”

And, because I’m a bastard, I say, “So, we done here?”

Surprise glitters her eyes. “Yes. I just—”

“What?” I snap. “What the fuck else do you have left to say?”

Probably something else to cut my heart open a bit wider. Should I get you the knife to do it with?

Her eyes shimmer with those tears again.

And I fucking hate myself.

She blinks rapidly, clearing her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she exhales quickly. “I just wanted to say thank you. For everything.”

Blade in the chest.

I stare past her at the door. “Fine. You done?”

There’s a long pause before she says, “Yes.”

Her word is soft, and it hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt before, and I’ve felt pain.

But, now, we’re done, and I don’t know what to do.

I called time on this conversation. So, all I can do is walk away.

But I don’t want to.

Still, pride has me turning around and walking back over to the bar, taking my seat next to Eddie.

“Okay?” he asks quietly.

I pick my beer up and nod. I don’t look at him. I can’t. Because, if I do, I’ll probably fucking cry.

I take a big mouthful of my beer. It hurts to swallow. Everything hurts. I can’t remember a time I felt this bad. Not even after I found out about my mother.

I put the glass down, staring into it.

Taylor’s leaving, and I’m never going to see her again.

We’re ending on bad words and anger.

But isn’t that how everything ends? With pain and sadness.

Is there such a thing as a happy ending? Because, if there is, I’ve never fucking seen one.

Should I go after her?

But what good would it do?

You want her, and she doesn’t want you. End of story.

And she’s probably gone by now.

But she might still be here…

If she’s changed her mind, then she’ll still be here.

I shouldn’t look.

But like the masochist I am, I need to know, and I’m turning my head and looking over my shoulder before I can stop myself.

She’s still here.

My heart soars for a split second, but then my mind is quickly telling me that something’s wrong.

She’s standing not far from the exit, faced away from me, her hand tightly gripping the top of a nearby chair. I can see the white of her knuckles from here. Her head lulls forward, and her free hand clutches at it.

She must be having another one of her headaches.

I might be hurting and angry and bitter, but I don’t want to see her in pain. I know how bad these headaches can get for her.

“Taylor,” I call out, as slip off my stool, taking a few steps toward her. “You okay?”

She doesn’t respond.

I think she hasn’t heard me, so I part my lips to speak again, but then she turns. It’s a slow turn.

Her face is pinched in pain. Her hand is still pressed firmly to her head.

She lifts her eyes to mine. It seems to hurt her to do so.

Something in her expression makes my heart start to race.