Placing the last hanger in the wooden contraption in front of her , she took a step back to take in her masterpiece, and boy was she pleased. Each and every article of her clothing were now coordinated according to the shades and hues that they belong to. Just as a grin broke out on her face, a sound beeped out of nowhere and interrupted her reverie.
Stomping her feet to where the sound came from, she saw it was his phone that had light up with a notification for a text. Seeing that it was an unknown number, she was emboldened to swipe her finger to the right and only to be greeted with an incriminating message that sent ire down her spine:
Miss you darling, xox.
Like a matador bull, all she saw was red and not a second of hesitation later, his phone was thrown across the room, collided with the wall, and a deafening sound was heard before that small piece of electronical device broke into smithereens.
On cue, he hurried into the room with his brow furrowed together.
"What happened?" he asked with concern laced in his words.
Without missing a beat, she threw objects within her reach at him; the more he tried to fend for himself, the faster and more vicious the objects came at him. Clothes. Vases. Books. Hangers. They all came flying at him until finally running out of things to throw, she slid down exhaustedly on to the floor.
Looking at her dejected form, he knew that her raging fit has ended. However, it was not a time to proclaim victory nor was it a time to huff a breath of relief because knowing her as well as he did, he knew that the battle might have subsided but the war was far from being over. Isn't there a proverb along the line of, it was always the calmest before the storm?
Thus, he knew that he needed to tread cautiously. Traipsing carefully through the strewn clothes, shards of glasses, torn books, stray papers and overturned table, he was halted in his steps when he heard her.
"Let's end this," she whispered so meekly that her words came out bereft. It was as if all the fight had seeped out of her with every object that now lain perilously around the battle ground that she has just so recently waged.
"What?" he croaked.
She did not raised her head from her vantage point of the floor, but she knew that if she would just lift her chin up infinitesimally, she would be able to see confusion and disbelief plastered on his face. It would be hard for him to accept her decision, she conceded internally, but she's done trying to salvage this wreckage of a relationship.
" I don't want to do this anymore. You. Us. I'm tired of living in this web of doubts all of the time."
" Baby," he pleaded, "don't do this. I promised you that I'll ch—"
" Stop! Just stop...please...let me go."
A heavy silence descended and cocooned them in a blanket of insurmountable tension.
"Are you sure?" he implored, after much hesitation, in a last attempt to convince her otherwise.
"I don't believe I have ever been surer of anything else," she stated without a hint of emotion.
Standing at the threshold of the walk-in closet, he took one last inventory at her. She could sense the intensity of his gaze on her but she stubbornly refused to meet his eyes. With an audible, almost strangled, sigh he acquiesced with her wish for freedom and left.
It was only after his footsteps were no longer heard that she gave free reigns to her tears to cascade freely down her cheeks.She has finally gotten the license to do as she wants.
But was she really happy about her new-found independence?
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