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The door slammed behind him; he was gone, out of my life just like that. Only, I didn’t want him gone, not for good. I couldn’t live without him; he meant everything, my entire world. We just needed some time away from each other. But, surely I’d lose him if I suggested it. He’d think I’d keep him waiting for months. I just needed days. I already knew the outcome—we’d be together for life. We had been together for six years. Not married, engaged, or even living together. He was afraid of commitment, and yet he’d been seeing only me for this long.
This was just another normal fight, the same one I always seemed to start:
“Why haven’t you proposed?” I asked quietly, sitting across the wood table from him, gripping my cup of tea tightly. I looked up, saw his face harden, “never mind,” I sighed.
“Becky,” he warned, and I looked down at my now cold tea. “It’s not happening; you knew that six years ago, you know that now.” Disappointment filled me, and I shut my eyes. This hurt worse every time it happened. He put his cup on the table with a loud “thud” and I jumped. “I’m leaving, see you later.”
“Wait, Daniel. I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again,” I placed my cup on the table, got up, and went to where he was standing. “I’m happy with what we have. I love you, and if you don’t want to get married, neither do I.” That was a lie; I wanted so very much to marry him. I wanted to wear his ring on my finger. I wanted to be more than what we were, but that wasn’t an option. This much, or none at all. And I couldn’t have none, not now, not after six years.
“I have to go, I work early tomorrow,” I was beat. He wouldn’t stay the night, he never stayed the night. Once, just once, I’d like to stay at my place. “I’ll see you later, Becky.” He gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and walked out, slamming the door. I stood there, holding back the tears that would fall onto my pillow, leaving it tearstained and soaked. He always did this, in the middle of dinner, or a nice conversation, if a rocky topic came up, he’d leave. There was no way to stop him, that’d just make it worse, and I’d have to wait longer before he came around again.
I left the mugs on the table, locked the front door, and watched his truck back out of the driveway. I watched long after the taillights disappeared, until I was sure he wasn’t coming back. I managed to make it to my bedroom, not remembering the walk from the window to here, before collapsing onto the beige comforter. I was done with this argument, it wouldn’t happen again. Six years of my life with him, and unless he was going to at least propose, he wasn’t getting any more.
I, Rebecka Trumbolt, am my own person, and I would not be controlled by a man, or my emotions any longer. Not even one who could destroy my world with just words. Granted, he hadn’t spoken them once the six years we’d been together, but he’d said other ones that had the same effect over time. “I will get married. Even if it’s not to Daniel Smith,” although, I hoped it was.
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Don't worry about the cliches, I haven't any plans to turn this story into one, seeing as they annoy me. I've got a tiwst or two up my sleeve.
