Halfway drunk and partially awake, Bianca fumbled with her keys until she found the one that fit the lock. The air inside the apartment was still, showing no signs of life other than John waiting alone in the dark.
“Do you know what time it is?”
She flipped the light switch, bathing the room in a dim glow that cast his face in sallow undertones. There was no need to check her phone. The circles under his eyes told more truth than a clock ever could.
“Late.”
John let his breath out with enough force to carry a night’s worth of resentment along with it. That one vein on his forehead, the one she liked to kiss most, was raised high enough to catch a contouring shadow of its own as he turned away from her.
His long hair hung limp, the way it always did when he was tired. He ran a hand through it but stopped halfway, his fingers gripping the roots at the base of his neck as he stood. He glanced at her, took a step forward, then again looked away. When he spoke, it was to the wall behind her shoulder.
“Yeah. It’s late. Really late, Bianca, the sun will be up before we get to sleep. I suppose you want to tell me what a great time you had?”
If he was expecting a response, he would have to wait for it. Her shoes seemed to have shrunk half a size sometime during the past few hours of dancing. These got kicked into the corner with her satin clutch dropped beside them.
She crossed the cold tile floor on hot blistered feet and sunk into the old chair that was still warm from his body. As she leaned her head back, the joints in her neck cracked into position.
None of this was about having fun. It was work, and he just didn’t get that. She had told him before, so many times, but he never listened to a single word she said unless it agreed with what he already thought in the first place.
The social life she had picked up was just another part of what it would take to succeed in the business. She had already gotten parts in two commercials, and every invitation held the promise of more to come. She was meeting people, good people, who believed in her and her talent.
It really was important, but she could explain this all later. Not now. Now, she needed to sleep. She let her eyelids drift downward and murmured her words through halfway-parted lips.
“I’m really tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?”
His laugh cut through the air with a bitter edge and her eyes snapped open at the sound of it. Strands of hair fell across his face, and he pushed them back with enough force to strain his skin. His muscles twitched as he looked at her.
“It’s morning right now, and you’ll sleep through the rest of it. You know, I bought some eggs on the way home. I thought we could have breakfast together. How stupid was that? I barely even see you. We’re supposed to be together, and you spend all your time getting wasted with the scum of the earth, pretending they’re your friends. Pretending they care about you at all. Just admit it. You don’t want to be with me. You want to be an actress.”
Her breath caught in her lungs as she stared into those dark eyes, those black hole pupils that swallowed nearly all of the brown and drew her heart into their pull as well. How badly she wanted to hold him. To move those hands of his away from pulling at his own hair and place them on her waist where they belonged.
She wanted it more than anything. Almost.
It happened so many times before, always that way. They would kiss, go to bed together, and have the same fight next week. Or the week after that. She had to make him understand, or it would never end. Silently, her soul pleaded for warmth, but her voice was the voice of reason.
“You know I’m doing this for us. So we can have a future. So we can be happy.”
He turned away, slamming his palms against the wall, his white shirt tight against the blades of his shoulders. She watched his spine rise and fall with each breath that he took, the rhythm becoming more steady with each second that passed.
“You’re so good at telling yourself exactly what you want to hear, but I’m not blind. This future you want isn’t for us. It’s for you. I’m happy just being with you.”
Her lips parted as she stared at this man, this hunched over figure who cared so little about her that he turned everything she did into a crime against himself.
What a liar he was. How many times had he told her that he didn’t want to get married living the way they were? Day by day, week by week, month by month, always surviving but no way to thrive. He knew the truth as well as she did.
Sure, he could work extra hours as long as she was there to support him. That much was fine. But the moment she tried to change things on her own, he hated her for it.
It was just too much. She had to shut him out. Her jaw tensed, but she kept her voice calm.
“I can’t deal with this right now. I’m going for a walk.”
She rose to her feet and pulled her dress off over her head, unable to bear the constriction a moment longer. Without a glance in John’s direction, she walked past their bed to the gym bag she had left on the floor that morning and dressed quickly, hiding her tank top and shorts under an oversized sweatshirt and lacing her bare feet into sneakers.
The flowerpot sailed in front of her face as she turned toward the door, bursting against the wood in an explosion of shattered ceramic, dried out dirt, and petals unable to stay connected with their stems. She jumped back with a yelp.
“Leave, then.” He might have been trying to yell, but his voice came out strained and it cracked under the pressure. “Leave, and don’t come back. I’m done with you.”
She grabbed her purse from the floor and stuffed it into her sweatshirt pocket. Shards of ceramic crunched under her shoes as she crossed the threshold, slamming the door shut without once looking back.
Taking the steps two at a time, Bianca raced down the stairwell toward the fresh air outside. She pulled her hood up and lowered her head, letting the tears stream freely down her face.
When her eyes dried and she realized John wouldn’t be coming downstairs, she started to walk. Slowly at first. Her feet were still sore, but against the cushioned insoles of her sneakers the tension was eased. Her legs craved more movement, and she lengthened her strides.
She pushed her hood back, her hair catching the wind as she gazed at the stars above. With no destination in mind, she kept walking. Past the silent apartment blocks, past the sleeping flowers resting their necks between chain links on fences, she walked past every street she knew and then a few she’d never even heard of.
The path to her left was dimly lit, silent if not for crickets. A yellow sign warned that this road had no exit, but the park at the end of it called to her. She turned left. Warped wooden benches lined the division between sidewalk and grass. Cutting across the landscape, she made her way to the swings.
Thick chains coated with rust creaked as she sat, not so much in complaint but to acknowledge her presence. The trees that bordered the park blocked most of the light from the street, and though her cheeks felt tight from salt residue, nobody was around to notice the swelling. Lifting her feet, she let herself sway.
How distant John seemed from where she was now. The thought of him was fading with the stars as the sky turned a shade lighter. Once she let go, he would be nothing but a memory. Her heart swelled in protest, and she broke her silence with a bittersweet laugh.
Even out of sight, those stars were still there, timeless lights that would remain after all the world’s glitter was gone.
She pushed her feet against the ground, taking command of the swing’s motion with her knees. Flakes of corroded iron crumbled beneath her hands as she gripped the chains tight. If he wanted to leave, she couldn’t stop him. But her name was on the lease as much as his was, and she didn’t have time to find a new place to live. Not when she had her whole life to worry about.
She pumped herself higher, leaning her head far enough back for the ends of her hair to brush against the cedar chips below. White clouds drifted in front of her eyes. The night was gone now, and the rest of the world would soon wake.
Soon, but not yet. If only for this one secluded moment, she was alone with herself.
She liked it.
Written for the Keangaroo Writing Contest - She Liked It sponsored by 
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