We fight all the time, I thought. Just another stupid fight we’ll pretend didn’t happen later… My gut told me I was wrong, but I’ve always hated being wrong, so I kept going, kept spitting the vitriol I knew fueled these moments.
Why do I do this? I asked myself. Why do I keep adding fuel to this hellfire? I hated fighting with him. It made us both stay stupid things we didn’t mean. Neither of us knew how to be wrong or concede, so it turned into this.
I screamed. I told him I was done with this conversation, that we weren’t getting anywhere, that these arguments never change anything, that this was pointless. I turned to walk away and froze at the words he said in response. My vision went fuzzy, my ears rang, and the world around me seemed to slow.
I couldn’t tell you what time it was, what room I was in at this point. What day was it? I couldn’t remember a single detail of that moment. All I remember is being afraid to turn around. Being afraid he’d repeat those words that I must have heard incorrectly. He doesn’t mean it, does he? He said it in a moment of rage, in a moment of frustration at me walking away, done with the fighting. If he meant it, everything changed. I don’t want change. I hate change. If I stayed frozen like this, it means I can stay in this exact point in time, right? The exact moment before I turned around and my world shattered like that window from my childhood, leaving jagged pieces and scars that may never fully heal. If I don’t turn around, then its not real, right?
Writing prompt courtesy of Promptuarium.
