The Speed Of Pain

Closure

Epilogue

New Year's Eve

The ticking of the clock feels like it's counting down to something inevitable, something I've been dreading for weeks. Each second that passes brings me closer to the end of the year and, more painfully, to the end of us. Outside, the world is alive—people laughing, celebrating, fireworks lighting up the sky. But inside, everything feels frozen, like I've been holding my breath for too long.

It's almost midnight. Almost a new year. And what should have been our first anniversary feels like a cruel reminder of everything we've lost.

I'm still wearing the dress I picked out hours ago—black, sleek, elegant—the one I thought I'd be wearing when we toasted to one year together. But now it just feels like armor, a way to keep myself together as I wait for something I'm not sure I'm ready for. I haven't heard from him since Christmas Eve. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. I told myself I wouldn't reach out, that I wouldn't beg him to come back. But I'm still waiting, hoping for the closure I need.

And then the door creaks open.

I don't turn around right away. I don't need to. I know who it is. His presence fills the room, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me. I've been waiting for him, waiting for this moment, but now that it's here, I feel like I'm falling apart inside.

I turn slowly, and there he is—Marilyn. He looks different, somehow smaller. His hair is a mess, his clothes wrinkled, and his eyes... God, his eyes. They're so tired, so full of something I don't recognize. Regret? Guilt? I don't know. But the man standing in front of me isn't the same one I fell in love with. Or maybe he is, and I just didn't see him for what he really was until now.

We stand there in silence, the space between us filled with a tension so thick I can hardly breathe. He opens his mouth, like he's searching for the right words, but nothing comes out. It's like we've both run out of things to say.

Finally, he speaks. "Hey."

It's such a simple word, but it carries so much weight. Too much. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Hey."

He takes a step forward, then stops, like he's unsure of what to do. "I wasn't sure if you'd be here," he says, his voice strained.

"Where else would I be? Our fucking Rose? Oh wait- that's you." I say bitterly. I'm not going to make this easy for him. Not after everything.

He flinches but doesn't answer. His eyes scan the room—the Christmas decorations still hanging, the untouched champagne glasses on the table, the necklace I left there hours ago, waiting for him. But I can see the guilt etched into his features, the way his shoulders slump as if the weight of his choices has finally caught up to him.

"I messed up," he says quietly, his voice breaking. "I should've told you. I should've been honest from the start."

I cross my arms, not moving from where I stand. "Yeah, you should have."

He flinches again at the coldness in my voice, but I can't bring myself to soften. Not for him. Not anymore.

"I didn't want it to end like this," he whispers, his eyes meeting mine for the first time.

I laugh, but it's bitter, hollow. "You didn't want it to end like this? Then maybe you shouldn't have cheated on me."

The word hangs between us, heavy and undeniable. He winces, like it physically hurts him to hear it again, but he doesn't deny it. He can't. We both know the truth.

"I didn't know how to let go," he admits, his voice barely audible. "Of you, of her... I didn't know how to handle it."

I feel the tears threatening, but I refuse to cry in front of him. Not tonight. "You don't have to figure out how to let go," I say, my voice hardening. "Because I'm already gone."

He looks at me, the regret in his eyes deepening, but I don't care anymore. I can't care. He's the one who let this happen, who let us fall apart.

I walk over to the table where the necklace he gave me sits, the one with the inscription No Matter What. It used to mean everything. It used to be a promise. Now it's just a lie, a reminder of the betrayal that shattered everything we had.

I pick up the necklace and hold it out to him. "This doesn't mean anything to me so I don't want it," I say quietly. "Take it."

Marilyn steps forward, his hand shaking as he takes the necklace from me. His fingers brush against mine, but it doesn't feel like it used to. There's no spark, no connection. Just coldness. Just emptiness.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you."

The tears I've been holding back start to spill over, but I blink them away quickly. "You already did."

He stands there, holding the necklace like it's the only thing anchoring him to this moment, and for a second, I think he's going to say something else. But then he just nods, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knows it's over. There's no fixing this.

"I'll go," he mutters, his voice barely audible.

I don't say anything. I just watch as he walks toward the door, each step echoing in the silence. He pauses for a moment, his hand on the doorknob, like he's waiting for something—some kind of sign, maybe. But I can't give him that. I won't.

He opens the door and steps outside, the cold night air rushing in as the door closes softly behind him.

And then, just as the door clicks shut, the clock strikes midnight.

The chime echoes through the empty house, marking the end of the year, the end of everything. Fireworks explode in the distance, their bright colors lighting up the sky, but inside, I feel like I'm watching the world from a distance, separated by a wall of grief and heartbreak. The celebration feels so far away, like it's happening to someone else.

I stand there for a moment, my heart aching in a way I've never felt before. Marilyn is gone. And so is the life we were supposed to have together. The future we talked about, the plans we made—they're all just fragments now, lost in the space between what was and what could have been.

I exhale slowly, the weight of the past year pressing down on me. It's over. Finally, painfully, it's over.

But as I stand there, listening to the distant sound of fireworks and laughter, I realize something. The clock struck midnight. It's a new year. A new beginning. And as much as it hurts right now, I know I have to keep moving forward.