the humor of the situation
by kaitlyn sudol
I slam the door. It's all that I can think to do as the pictures and words fly around my brain. How could he? How COULD he?! I thought he loved me! I thought he was so much more mature than this...I thought...I thought...
"No," I whisper to myself. I have to stop thinking. That�s what got me into this mess, thinking I loved him, assuming he would never...GOD! I've never been this mad before. I can't even complete my thoughts. I just want to hit something...him! I want to break something. Glass...a chair...his skull with my fist...
My footsteps echo in the silent room. Footstomps are more like it. It's a good thing the only apartment downstairs is his, because I think I'm knocking off the plaster of the ceiling. I grab my coat and open the door to the stairwell so hard it bounces back from the wall and closes again, a brown and blue blur. I angrily pull it open again and start down the stairs. Each stair resounds into the emptiness surrounding me. It reverberates off of the walls, accentuating the anger filling me to my core...causing my hands and arms to tremble uncontrollably. I can feel it burning through everything I touch...I can feel the energy just oozing out from my pores, scalding everything in my path...
The door opens behind me.
"Mark! I can explain!" The voice is so familiar. So soothing. Or, at least, it was at one time. Before these fires of hate and fury separated us, I would have stopped at that voice. I would have stopped, or at least wavered in my determination. I would have turned and looked into his eyes and fallen all over again. I would have let him run to me and scoop me up and bring me back upstairs. Maybe I would have even run to him. He had that power over me. He always had.
At least, until today.
"No," I say firmly, continuing down without so much as a look over my shoulder. "No. No more." I reach the next landing and enter his apartment. A duffel bag...as I hear his footsteps heavy on the stairs I start grabbing things from drawers, things I recognize as mine from the ground and tabletops. I'm surprised at just how much has accumulated in this room. But the surprise is still second to the rage that's completely controlling my entire being. He trips in behind me, clutching the doorframe and panting.
"Mark...please...what are you doing?" His voice is so sad. Still, nothing happens inside of me. My heart remains firm, which is...almost funny. It's funny that it can remain so firm after being shattered into so many pieces...
"Going. Now." I close the bag and squeeze through the doorway without touching him. I can't touch him. Not after that...
Maybe it isn't so much my anger and disgust as an unacknowledged fear. Maybe I'm afraid to touch him. Maybe I'm afraid he'll make me stay.
I'm out of the door and down the next flight of stairs before he can react. I hear him scampering to catch up, and I block it out. I block everything out as I finally hit the ground level and slam my way onto the street. A cracking sound trails in my wake. The distinct sound that only broken glass makes. That crack fills me with a sense of fulfillment. I hear the door open again just seconds afterwards, however, and my mood falls. I hear him running after me. Why can't he just let me be?! Christ Jesus, all I want to do is get away from him!! I want to leave all of that behind me and if he keeps following me I'll--
"Mark! Jesus fucking Christ! Will you listen to me for two god damn seconds?!" he shouts at me. People are staring at us. They should be. His voice seems to have silenced the whole of the sidewalk. He's not wearing a shirt or shoes even, and I probably look at though I would rather kill him that listen to him.
I think I would rather kill him, right now. Take the glass from the broken windowpane and just slit his throat. Get my hands on him in any way possible and...and just...
"NO!" I shout at the top of my lungs. "You do not deserved to be listened to after...after...THAT!" I shout in reply. I gesture wildly, the duffel bag knocking into him. He catches it and takes my arm. I try to pull it away to no avail. I don't want him to touch me to...to sully me. I try and yank it away again, but he holds fast.
"God, Mark, can't you chill out just a LITTLE?! Can't you mellow?!" he's desperate, grasping at straws and tightening his grip on my arm. "Can't you see the...the humor of the situation?!" I freeze. How dare he...how dare he try and satirize this?!! I guess I should expect as much from him now...I mean, before this morning I didn't even think he would...
"Leave me ALONE!" I hear myself shout without even realizing it, let alone thinking about it. I feel my arms pull back and shove him clear across the sidewalk, the stunned look on his face just further fueling my turmoil. I pull my bag back up against me and glare at him, fire dancing darkly in my eyes, I'm sure. "Just...let me be, you insensitive ass. Just stay out of my fucking life from now on!" And I run down the sidewalk as he sits on the curb, his eyes wide, staring at me. I know if I stay any longer I'll hit him again and again until either I feel better or he winds up dead. I don't want to be in jail, so I just flee, hating him even more with ever fiber of my soul every time my feet slam into the pavement.
I don't know where I'm going. I really wish I did. I just clutch my bag as I feel the heat and fire of my rage turning around inside of me. I elbow past others, blindly heading towards some goal no more concrete than 'away from that vile jerk'
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