Have You Ever Seen the Sun Rise at Midnight?

Calm

"You need to calm down." They said coldly, staring down at you from behind those spotless glasses of theirs, composed and frowning, "You're making a scene."

You blinked back the tears that had risen to your eyes and were fighting to fall. They were right. This wasn't how adults were supposed to act. What had you been thinking coming here, to his place of work no less, and in this state. It didn't matter what you had found. "I-I'm sorry Ta-"

"Don't make excuses," they interrupted, "Just do better. Now, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes which you have interrupted my planning for. Here are my keys, you're going to go downstairs and compose yourself in the car, once my meeting ends I'm going to go join you, and we can go home and talk this out where hopefully you won't be such an embarrassing mess. Understood?"

"Y-yes." You stuttered out, ashamed, "Just let me calm down a moment..."

"It's not my fault you can't control yourself, I need silence to work, go."

You sniffled and wiped at your eyes, but stood and grabbed your bag. They were right, they always were, why should they have to suffer because you just had to go and interrupt their work day with your dramatics. It didn't matter what you found.

Their coworkers stared at you, disapprovingly, scornfully, as you walked past. So many sets of eyes following you like so many reminders. You were overly emotional and paranoid.

That was the only explanation. Why you kept failing to trust them like this. They loved you, they said it all the time, it had to be true, it had to. They wouldn't betray you.

The receptionist fixed you with a judging gaze and scoffed as you walked passed, but didn't comment. A part of you was relieved when no comment was said. A part of you felt even worse because of it. You fought not to sniffle as you scraped at the tears with the heel of your hand, how disgusting, embarrassing you were being.

You stopped at the elevator. Someone was already waiting there, you just wanted to curl up into a ball and forget this terrible mistake. You shouldn't have come here.

"Need a tissue?" He asked, pulling a small pack from his briefcase and offering it to you with a pitying smile, "Some days can, uh, be like that, I know."

You blinked, realizing with the motion that he was in fact talking to you, "Oh- I, um, no thanks." You looked away. And now you were troubling this nice man with your silly paranoia too. You felt so ashamed.

"Alright." He said after a moment and you both returned to waiting in silence for the elevator to arrive. You clutched your arms tighter, just wanting to disappear.

The doors opened with a quiet ding.

He got in, but you waited, "Miss?" He questioned holding the elevator open for you.

"I-I can wait for the next one." You stuttered, "I don't want to be a bother."

"You won't be," he reassured, "the elevator is big enough for two." You knew it was, it could fit ten easily. "Alright," he said, his voice soft, after another moment, "Have a better day then." The doors slid shut and you were left standing there still.

Either way you'd be waiting. But a part of you wished you had gotten into that elevator. At least then you'd have reached the car sooner, you could have thrown the bag as far away from you in the car as you possibly could have. It wasn't the bag that bothered you, of course, once it had been a reminder of happier days, of when you were younger, prettier, and not quite as much of a sorry wreck that you had become.

It was the contents that bothered you.

It didn't matter how many slight lipstick stains you found on their collar, or the marks that sometimes appeared on their neck, or how many times they slipped away for work and came back smelling of wine and an unfamiliar fragrance. They always had some explanation. But this.

This.

The tears welled up again in your eyes and the little part of you that had somehow still survived crumbled all over again.

Finding the revealing black underwear which you knew you didn't own, or at least you had been pretty certain of that, under your bed of all places, had been too much. It had broken you.

You'd had to take the bus to get here, but you had done so because you just had to know.

But you knew now they would have a reasonable explanation for it.

They always did.

What did it matter if it were true or not?