one year later
and just like that, she was back in his life. It wasn’t until she knocked on his door and entered without his permission—“Can I borrow scissors,” she said nonchalantly, picking them from his desk gingerly—that he knew she had come back. She even looked him in the eyes before she turned and walked out his door. In disbelief, he heard her door close.
He wanted to scream. To yell, or hit something, or break something. He wanted there to be some kind of noise or disturbance. Anything but this silence. Anything that conveyed what he felt.
Instead, he sank to the floor, defeated. It had only been a year, he told himself. A year without any sort of contact—and his heart pumped blood furiously through his veins. He couldn’t think about it without seeing red.
The days continued in a similar fashion. For the most part, they barely bumped into one another, unless she had something she needed from him. It wasn’t uncomfortable, living together, and that thought alone made him uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable, he decided. Dissatisfied.
She was the same as ever. He found himself picking up after her mess as if he had always done it. Which he had before, he thought to himself, as he tossed a dirty sock into her laundry basket.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed as they continued this (strange) living situation when he came home one day and found her sitting on the floor, staring into space.
He knew right away she was waiting for him, because she never did anything without a purpose, and his heartbeat rose to a dangerous level as he waited for whatever she was going to say.
“You’re mad at me,” she said, again, nonchalantly. “I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but, still. I’m sorry.”
He was mad. He was mad still. He sat next to her, but said nothing.
“Is this okay though,” she continued. She was still staring into space. “Living like this.”
When he found his voice, he was surprised by its sound. “Yeah.” The words came from their own volition. “It’s okay.” What was more surprising was that it really was okay for him. The thought made him resigned, and his shoulders slumped in surrender.
She noticed and looked at him now for the first time. Her hand unconsciously reached out as if to touch his face, but she caught herself, stood, walked to her room, and closed the door quietly.
He sat there for a long time afterward. When she came out again from her room, he had made dinner. They sat and ate together in silence.
