“I don’t know how to start this,” he said. I wanted to help him, but I couldn't.
I have no clue what’s been going on his mind for months now. All we've had were dry exchanges of hi’s and hello’s. But on that day, I know the words he’ll be uttering in a few minutes. I've heard them before. I've uttered them before. I remember the way it will feel but I can never be prepared for it. I couldn’t help him.
“I met someone else.”
I laughed. He must be kidding. I hope.
I instinctively looked around for cameras, caught glimpse of the people around us. Everything seemed normal sans his flushed face. I felt sick on the inside as I begged for it to be a bad joke.
The details of what happened next, now forever etched on my memory. How his hands shook as he went on with his story. How it seemed like hours being on that table with him. How my self-worth dissolved in front of a person I no longer knew.
I had a feeling we could have been just biding our time but no one told me it could be over too soon. That in every crank of the years and the gears and the tears, a screw or two will get loose.
I should have known.
