Member-only story
Then I’ll Leave
The thought of leaving you looms over me like a ghost would his killer, awaiting the perfect time to pounce. The way my stomach ties itself into a knot when I hear you twist open the door knob to our room should be the only indication I need to pack my belongings and get the hell out of your house. But sadly, it isn’t. No, I torture myself day in and day out by the neglect and loneliness you so graciously provide. I prefer the yelling matches to the silence. At least then, when you looked down at me in disgust and clenched your fists as if about to hit me and raised your voice, you were still looking at me like a real person. I want you to hit me. Then I’ll leave. Deep down, I know you never will, which perhaps is why I use that as my final straw. It strings me along and lingers in my dreams, taunting me all the while. Especially when I read the texts you send her. Just hit me already. Please. Then I’ll leave you.
