• I almost freeze when I see her. Tonight, of all ******** nights – why now? I force a smile.

    She can sense the tension. She gives me a half-smile, some sort of hesitation evident. “Hey,” she says quietly.

    “Hey,” I say back. The silence ticks by, painfully slowly.

    “How’re you?” she asks, gently.

    I crack. The tears I’ve been choking back all day burst forth, with a half-dozen beers and God knows how many shots behind them, giving them force. “Shitty,” I say calmly, the salty paths down my face contradicting my tone.

    She falters. “I, uh…” This is not in her plans, this is not how she planned on walking home. Did she hope she’d find another guy, some stranger (or God forbid, some not-stranger) to walk her home for the night, to warm her with whispers and exciting touches, and once they climbed into bed…? I brush the thought from my mind – that’s the worst possible place I can go right now.

    “I’m going to bed,” I say calmly, the tears still clear upon my face. My inner sense of decorum, of decency hisses in my ear to just cut and run, this is a lost cause, that I, or her, at some point, have really truly ended things. But I can’t believe that, somewhere in my head. There’s always some chance, somewhere.

    She gives me the once-over. I’m clearly drunk, but not blacked-out, not yet. God knows I tried, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight. I needed memory tonight, on some primal level, even if I didn’t want it. “That’s probably a good idea,” she says quietly.

    I make a non-commital grunting sound. I slide past her, careful not to bump her, but stop a few inches past her. I whirl around to her back, all of my frustration and agony of the past week boiling up like lightning. “What ******** did it, Cassie? What could I have done better?”

    She turns slowly, her face stony. “I told you. It wasn’t anything you did – “

    “BULLSHIT!” I yell. My tears are pouring out now. “I ******** up – I know I did, and I would do anything to take it back. I – “ I’m stammering now, choked up on my own thoughts and the crushing weight of my own actions – “I would give anything to take that month back. She didn’t mean a damn thing to me.”

    She gives me a long, sad look. “Neither did I,” she says quietly. Her words cut like a knife, deep into your heart. I know that, on some basic level, they’re true, as much as I hate myself for it.

    I sob, uncontrollably now. “I j-just wish I-I had been better,” I cry. “I wish I h-had m-meant it, meant any o-of the t-things I s-s-said.” I collapse to the ground, my knees unable to hold me anymore. “I j-just wish I h-h-had really loved you,” I sob.

    She sits down next to me, her concern apparent on her face, her own struggle visible. “Or that you’d meant it when you said that you didn’t love me,” she says.

    I sob harder, despite my own expectations. “No, I n-never w-w-wish that. I wish I had done right by you.”

    “But you didn’t. And I moved on.” She puts both arms around me, gently. It’s too much to bear, too much like when things were right, or at least when there was hope. I cry out, like I’ve been wounded. And truthfully, I have.

    She sits there with me until I can catch my gasping breath. She’s started crying too, but not the gasping, crippling sobs that I have – just tears, liquid memories, leaving her, falling gently to the ground, so she may be free of them.

    “It would have been two years, tonight,” I murmur sadly.

    She tenses, noticeably, even in my state. She did know, but she’d blocked it from her mind. I know her well enough to notice.

    After a moment, I stand slowly, like my very joints ache. She lets go of me. I give her one soulful, tearful look once I’ve straightened myself.. “I am so sorry,” I whisper.

    “I know,” she whispers back.

    “I love you,” I say, a little louder.

    “I know,” she whispers again, no louder.

    I turn and walk away, the tears pouring down my face. It is done, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. I listen for her footsteps, but I can’t hear them. It’s as though only myself and my grief walk the streets tonight. I sob again, once.

    “Happy Valentine’s Day,” I whisper, heart-broken.