This is a very short story I wrote during fall quarter 2012 due to stress. The idea had been sitting in my head for a while.
So, here you go!
“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” he tells me, “I have apologized and apologized.”
He is looking straight at me, but I stare at the ground.
“Look, I appreciate that. I do,” I look up and stare at the spot just over hi shoulder, “But this is not something that you can just make go away.”
“Just tell me what I need to do,” he pleads.
There is a pause, and I can hear a woman singing Journey in the apartment next door.
“This isn’t working anymore,” I’m looking at him now and I see terror creep into his eyes.
I get up and start to walk away.
“Amy, no. Come on! We can work this out. I’m sorry,” he catches up and cuts me off. Dipping his head he tries to make eye contact but I weave around him.
“You are making this out to be more than it is! I made a mistake,” he yells at my retreating form.
One word, and something in me snaps.
“A mistake? A MISTAKE?” I turn on my heel and stomp back toward him.
“What you did was deliberate!” I’m right in front of him now, “How do you expect me to trust you after this?”
My arms are flailing and I hear the music next door stop abruptly.
“I…I…,” Alex stammers, “I’m sorry.”
“Let’s be honest here,” I say, “You are not sorry for what you did. You’re sorry that you got caught.”
He says nothing, and drops his eyes to the ground.
“You drank the last Yoohoo, Alex. My Yoohooo! And now…Well, I can never trust another man in my kitchen again. Goodbye. May your next girlfriend be a juice drinker.”
He just looks at me, speechless. I turn an walk once again toward the door. As I open, I take one last look at him.
I didn’t cry, and I didn’t mourn.
Instead, I went to the nearest 7/11 and bought the best damn chocolate milk of my life.