I don’t know exactly what goes on between you leaving with a falsely innocent smile plastered all over your face and you traipsing home several hours later looking like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, but I’ve got a pretty good idea. I’m not going to mention it though- I don’t think I could take the pain if my suspicions were right and I don’t want to see the hurt in your beautiful eyes if I was wrong. Or right, for that matter. After all knowing you broke my heart would still cause you pain, I guess. Just of a guilty, more accepting kind and I definitely don’t want to see that. That would mean it was over.

Not that my heart isn’t breaking already, every time you sigh and reluctantly step into my embrace after coming home looking dishevelled, reeking of some unknown aftershave. Every time you dodge a kiss or bite your lip nervously and…guiltily before very quietly murmuring. “I love you too.” Sometimes I wonder if on some level, you want me to find out what’s going on- you don’t seem to be making much of an effort to hide it.

I wonder who he is, if he means anything to you. Are you in love with him? I shouldn’t think like that, they’re the kind of thoughts that keep me awake at night, turning them around in my head; thinking of any male name you’ve mentioned in even the slightest passing, trying to remember if there was anything strange in your voice at the time, any sort of meaningful depth. I even considered following you the other day, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it- partly because, for some bizarre reason, I thought it would be “invading your privacy”, but mainly because the thought of actually seeing you with someone else terrified me to my very core.

I’ve noticed that you’ve started mumbling in your sleep- it’s mostly incoherent, or just complete nonsense, but the other day, it was, “I love you.” And then your eyes snapped open and you sat up, a shocked and horrified look on your face- were you dreaming about him? And if you were…And you…Love him, why are you still here? Why are you still keeping up this weak masquerade of love for me? What are you gaining? Isn’t that just drawing out the agony for both of us?

                                ***

Your excuses are becoming more unbelievable now, and I can see the already poor mask slipping more and more. I don’t know how gullible and all trusting you think I am- do you honestly think I believe you when you make up some absurdly distant relative that you are so enthusiastic to have a reunion with? Or do you just not care at all anymore? Am I that worthless that you can’t even be bothered trying to think of a decent lie?

I make sure to tell you I’ve missed you when you come home now. I don’t think that’s what I really mean though- I think I mean, I’m going to miss you. I have a feeling it’s not going to be long before you finally give up and leave me for him. I can see the stress of it all taking its toll on you more and more- you look more tired and gaunt recently, and your brilliant, natural vibrancy seems to have diminished. The oddest thing is, you’re still as beautiful to me and I guess that’s the reason why, despite how much I want to, despite how much I wish I had enough pride to, I can’t end it myself: I still desperately hope that by some miracle you’ll suddenly realise how much you love me and choose me. I know how pathetic that sounds in these circumstances, but regardless of everything, I still love you, I still adore you.

                               ***

I look up as you walk through the door and horrible feeling of dread rises within me. There’s something in your eyes- a wholly unpleasant, almost indescribable mixture of guilt, acceptance and a strange dullness that I can’t quite place.

“Hey,” I say simply, feeling a sharp bolt of pain as you flinch at my cheerful greeting.

“We need to talk.”

This is it. I remain silent, waiting for your next words, as a dull throbbing begins to beat a constant, aching rhythm within my chest. I’m not going to mention him if you don’t, I don’t need to make this any harder for you. Wait, make it harder for you? How is it possible that even when you’re about to shatter my heart into a million pieces, I’m more concerned about the effect it’ll have on you?

“I…I don’t even know how to say this…God…But, I…You…Me and you…We can’t be together…”, you stammer, never once meeting my eyes. You suddenly fall silent, waiting for a reaction, and I take a deep, shuddering breath as the dull throbbing suddenly develops into something much sharper, before saying what I assume to be the natural reaction in this situation.

“Why?”

“I…Wait, listen, you have to know…This has nothing to do with you…You’ve done nothing wrong…It’s…It’s…”

Without thinking, I automatically finish the sentence.
“Him.”

You freeze, and an unnaturally loud silence engulfs the room as you stare, at me with wide, startled eyes. What the hell happened to not mentioning him?

“You…You…You know? Why…?”, you finally splutter, breaking the silence that had stretched on for what had seemed like hours, but was probably just a few seconds. You don’t need to finish the sentence; I know what you’re asking- why did I stay with you?

I feel tears spring into my eyes and something important finally split before uttering, barely audibly, one short, simple word.

“Hope.”