beautifully broken:if i break 3(63)

She built a persona around herself, one that she puts on to not give a damn, but I see it in her eyes how much it hurts her and I hate myself for it. She thinks I hate her and that makes everything worse. I try to show her I love her the only way I know how without lying. The only time I can see behind her walls she’s built up is when I’m inside her, literally. I’m turning her into someone I never wanted her to be. I liked that she spoke her mind, now she only tells half-truths. She’s angry, and I know it’s because she’s hurting. This is going to hurt her, but she’s strong. She’ll get over me, she’ll move on. She can have the life that she always wanted. Someone she can know, whose family she can meet, where her biggest decision is where to go on vacation. I’ve been down here awhile. I head back upstairs. Before I go into our bedroom for probably the last time I ready myself for this. Ready to take the role of villain, to make her see me as someone I never wanted her to see, the reason I loved her so much because even in all our fights and arguments she never looked at me like that. Today she has to.

“You’re finally up,” I say turning on the light.

“How long have you been here?” she asks, covering a yawn escaping from her mouth.

“About an hour,” I say, sitting in a chair across from the bed so we’re face to face. She glances at me, her eyebrow arched.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” I pull my chair closer towards her and sit back down. She looks at me curiously; I can’t look her in the eye.

“Cal,” she says softly, reminding me of the girl I fell in love with. Not the pissed off angry woman she’s been the past few months.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers, almost as if she’s afraid to hear the answer. I wish more than anything I didn’t have to, but I can’t let her know that. Anger is what she’ll want to hold on to it’s what she needs.

“I’ve never lied to you,” I say steadying my voice. “And I’m not going to start now,” I drop my head down, run my hands through my hair. How am I supposed to do this?

My heart rate picks up. “Just say it,” she commands.

I take her hand, I won’t have the strength to do it if I don’t remind myself how much I love her. More than myself.

“I-I have to leave.” The words are bitter as they come up from my throat.

“Her expression hardens, and she pulls her hand away. “You called me back for this?” She’s sighs, obviously frustrated and annoyed and stands up. I take her hand and pull her back down.

“Look, this is different,” I tell her.

“Everything is different with you, Cal. If you weren’t so different, maybe I wouldn’t feel so screwed up right now,” she snaps at me. She’s pissed and I deserve it, and she’s right. If I wasn’t different we wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have to do this if I wasn’t different. She could be happy. I could make her happy but things aren’t different, they’re the same and I have to let her go.

“I don’t know if I’ll be back.” She looks confused.

“What?”

“Would you mind repeating yourself?” she says sharply.

“I’m going to make sure that you’re taken care of. I put sixty thousand in your personal account…”

“What? You don’t know if you’ll be back?” She’s frantic and I try to stay still. Calm.

“Why does it sound like you’re saying that you’re leaving me?”

“I have to,” I tell her, trying to remain indifferent, cold, but it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“Is this about me, how I’ve been acting? Is this some kind of revenge thing?” she asks, her voice starting to waver.

“This has nothing to do with you,” I force the words out.

“Exactly, Cal! Look what you’re saying—I’m your wife. And your decision to leave has nothing to do with me?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“What are you talking about? Cal! Talk to me, please,” she says frantically. “Look at me!” she pleads.

I can’t look at her.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?” Tears are starting to fill her eyes and I feel like I’m being punched in the chest.

“Tell me what the hell is going on! Tell me what’s going on with you for once!” she begs, and I just want her to stop crying, to stop pleading. I want her to yell at me and hit me and punch me not this.

“I can’t!” I yell at her.

“This isn’t about me,” I say, walking away from her. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.