"I had a reason..."
"What? What could it possibly be?" She pulled her hand away. "Please, help me to understand."
Thomas didn't reach for her. He didn't say a word. How could she ever understand, when he didn't know why he did it. The fever left him. His teeth weren't chattering anymore. Maybe she liked having her heart broken he thought bitterly, why else would she stand there in those ugly sweats with her hair all twisted up on top of her head. He watched the streams of black run down her cheeks. The brown eyes turned cold. He felt the blows from her small fists on his chest, but he didn't really feel it. He would have liked it if she was this way. He floated out of his head all around the room looking at the old posters with their corners curling. He let his fingers dance at his side. A song was playing, a march. It was time to join the chorus. He lifted his voice yelling to the image reflecting in the glass behind her. The barrage ended, Misty disappeared and he was alone.
In the quiet he let himself rest. He grabbed the tangled afghan from the floor and pulled it around his shoulders. If she wanted a reason, she would have to make magic happen, he thought to himself. She would have to go back in time and change everything. She broke every strand of fragile trust he had spun around himself. He thought he was better than that, when she touched him he was sure of it and that was the only way he would have ever started anything with her. So, no...he had no excuse when he left the bar without her, when he didn't come home all weekend, she could figure it out herself, he wasn't about to make it easy for her.
He heard things flying in the next room. He didn't check to see if she was taking anything valuable. She already took what he had. There was only relief when the door finally closed behind her. Now, it was over, he made sure of it. He walked to the window watching until the cab pulled up and collected her from the sidewalk. He wouldn't be lonely this time. He danced in a circle and scratched the top of his ear until it burned.
Puffins pressed his furry body up against his ankles. That made him cry. That made him cry. He cried for hours until his legs could no longer sustain his gaunt limbs. Finally he picked up the kitten and set him outside of the door. Someone would feed him he reasoned. He wasn't a monster he told himself. He grabbed the dish from the kitchenette and filled it with the pebbly food. When he took a step, his legs went out from under him and he was launched like a rocket into the next room. He suddenly thought of the figure of himself flying with the food from the dish spewing in front of him and rolling into his path.
He swam across the living room floor . He opened the door just enough to slide out the all but empty dish into the hall.
"Are you alright Mr. Peterson?" The shocked elderly woman dropped her sack of groceries onto the floor and pushed the door all the way open. She reached down and pulled awkwardly on his arm pinning it behind him. Instead of wincing he laughed out loud. "I see you've had a bit of an accident!" Mrs. Simms surveyed the spray of cat food all over the floor. "Good Lord!" she said gasping.
Thomas pulled himself up and draped his long arms around her shoulders and began weeping.
"Love," she lead him to the sofa. "It will be alright. I'll get a broom and we'll have this cleaned up in no time."
In twenty minutes everything was tidy. Thomas found himself sitting watching cartoons and sipping hot chocolate. He was truly sorry when she finally left. He felt much better, he had to admit. He thought maybe he would even go out for a bit later. For now he was content to let the morning drift quietly away. He brushed his long fingers through the mass of curls falling past his shoulders. It was the best he'd felt in months and he was willing to let it stay that way.
