Page 71 of Lily In The Valley
Her whole face shifted. That was the wound. The one no one else touched.
“You don’t get to talk about my parents.”
“Why not? They raised you into the woman who thinks love is war. Who expects men to leave so she punishes the ones who stay. I’m not your damn daddy, Kelly.”
“And I’m not your mama,” she spat. “I didn’t abandon you.”
“No, you’re worse,” I said. “You stayed. You let me believe we were building something while you planned your escape.”
“I never asked you to wait.”
“You didn’t have to,” I said. “You asked with your tears. With your silence. With that look you give me when you don’t know what to say but still want to stay.”
She stepped back like I slapped her.
“I show up for you,” I said, quieter now, voice hoarse from hurt. “And all you give me is crumbs.”
Her voice was barely a whisper as she looked to the floor. “Because all I have left are crumbs.”
We both went still. Her arms dropped to her sides. My chest heaved like I’d just been pulled out to the ocean. Neither of us moved. Neither of us knew how to put it back together. The silence after the last words we hurled at each other wasn’t peaceful. It was deafening. Hollow. Like the world had dropped out from under us, and now we were just standing in its ruins, pretending like the fire wasn’t still burning.
I looked at her. She’d moved to brace herself against the counter like the granite beneath her elbows was the only thing keeping her upright. The candle on the coffee table flickered once, twice, and then died out completely. I bent down and picked up the bag I’d brought. Unzipped it slowly. Pulled out the spicy trail mix. Set it on the counter. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the bag like it was a body I’d dropped between us.
“I brought this for you,” I said, my voice steady, almost too calm. “Thought you could use something from home.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her eyes, rimmed with thick, stubborn tears that refused to drop, followed my movements like she wanted to stop me but didn’t know how.
I looked around the apartment one last time. This was the place I thought I’d visit to feel closer to her. All I felt now was distance.
“I know you think I came here to guilt you,” I said, turning to the door. “But I didn’t. I just wanted to be near you. I thought maybe…maybe that’d be enough.”
“Khalil…” I froze. She was whispering again. “Let’s talk this out. I don’t want you to leave like this.”
“Hmph,” I said, not turning around. “You didn’t want me to come either.”
I opened the door. Her footsteps padded softly behind me. I felt the warmth of her presence at my back before she touched me. Her hand landed on my arm, small, unsure.
“Please. Don’t go,” she cracked. “Talk to me.”
I turned finally, looked her dead in the eyes. The tears that wanted to fall clung to her lids like life preservers. Her lips trembled with all the words she’d refused to say earlier. She reached out again, fingertips brushing my chest. Like if she could just touch me enough, I’d forget what we just became. But I remembered everything. All the ways I’d bent. All the ways she never caught me when I folded.
“I can’t keep loving you like this,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. “It’s killing me.”
“Khalil. I–”
“You don’t need to explain,” I cut her off, shaking my head. “I know you don’t have anything left to give. But I do. And I need to save it for myself.”
Her hand dropped to her side. Tears slipped freely now, but she didn’t sob. Just stood there, mouth slightly open, like she wanted to say something that couldn’t stop the inevitable. But there was no speech that could undo what had been said. No apology that could rewind a wound so deep, it’d take decades to heal. So, I turned. Walked out. And this time I didn’t look back.
When I flew backto Houston, I didn’t go straight home. I hit the gym, lifted weights for hours, ran a few trails at a park downtown. I needed air. I needed to feel something other than that hollow ache in my chest that kept getting wider the more I thought about her face when I left. By the time I made it in my apartment, the sun had long since set. I should’ve gone to sleep. Should’ve closed the curtains, curled up with the pain, and just taken the loss.
But I didn’t. I refused to go out sad.
I texted Maverick.
Me
You out?
