Page 23 of Rainstorm

Now he’s killing me and he knows it.

I’ve been tossed aside, thrown out into a rainstorm and I’m drifting, out of my depth and drowning, with no safe haven to take shelter.

And he’s the one who’s put me there.

My home is now nothing more than debris at my feet. I don’t care about stone bricks and wood floors.

I just care about love.

About dreams.

About my life dissolving between icy drops.

Beaten.

Broken.

Busted.

He thinks he can escape that easily, just walk out and leave me with all these shadows, all the ghosts of our memories in this house, which will become a tomb, a mausoleum of my dreams, if all hope for a life together is gone.

“What has happened to us, Chase? I don’t understand why you’ve changed, why you’re acting this way. This isn’t you, just tell me the truth, you fucking liar!” I demand, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me.

“Don’t make this more complicated, Rose. I’m leaving tonight.”

“You aren’t leaving our home without an explanation. I’m your wife, I deserve that much, for fuck’s sake.” I’m screaming at him now, I’m losing control, but I really don’t care.

“Rose, I have nothing further to say. I don’t think...”

“You don’t think? But you’ve had plenty of time to think about this, since you said you were thinking about this before your trip. Fuck, I’m such a moron. I’ve spent days and days wondering how to rekindle our relationship. Planning something nice for us. All because I thought you loved me.”

“This isn’t about love, Rose, I do care deeply about you.” Those words seem to almost choke him.

“YOU CARE ABOUT ME? What does that even mean? Does it help me? Of course not. I don’t want your fucking CARE, Chase, I want your LOVE, your love.”

My words seem to pierce him like a knife, and he slumps on the chair beside him, his face pale. “Rose, I’m so sorry.”

“You can go fuck yourself. Go on, just fuck off if that’s what you want.” I’m beyond angry, I’m furious. Fuming, and don’t care that I’m swearing at him in a most unladylike way. In fact, I’m so fucking mad that I could easily lash out and hit him, hard, but I decide to conserve my strength.

I’m going to need it.

Without saying another word, I go to our bedroom and search in the closet for the biggest suitcases that we have.

Correction. That we had. Past tense.

There is no more we. ‘We’ don’t exist anymore.

I have to start thinking in the singular. ‘We’ is an illusion that no longer exists.

I have to force myself not to cry, not to act as if I’ve just been totally humiliated by my husband. I refuse to fall apart. I cannot allow myself to break down.

I look up to find Chase watching me in silence as he leans against the doorframe. I meet his gaze for a moment, then resume desperately putting everything I see in front of me in the suitcase before forcing it closed. Of course, it’s impossible to take everything.

All my dreams, as well as my broken heart, will remain here.

“Rose, this isn’t necessary,” he pleads as I drag the heavy suitcases toward the door. “You don’t need to go, this is your house. I’m the one who should leave.” As I push past him in the doorway, I look up at him for what seems like the first time in years. Who is this man? I still don’t comprehend how it’s come to this. All I know is that I have to get out of here.

I don’t reply. My silence will have to speak for me.

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