Open Your Arms

Chapter 52

July 14, 2004

My eyes burn as they flutter open. I rush to the bathroom and see that they're just red and swollen. I splash water onto them and rub them aggressively, hoping that the burning sensation will die down, but they don't. 

Frustratingly, I sigh and rub my eyes on a towel, then turn back towards the bedroom and walk out of the bathroom. 

The bed is empty. Ville never came home last night. My mind has been racing as to where the fuck he is right now. 

I never called him. He never called me. It's like nothing even happened. 

Waking up today is one of the hardest things in my life that I've ever had to do. I didn't want to wake up. I felt like dying. My body feels like there's a huge hole in my stomach and I've been stabbed in the heart countless times. 

It's just heartache. 

Even though Ville's not physically here, he's still here in the memories. There's photographs everywhere of him and I. I can't escape his face, no matter how hard I try. 

If I wanted to, I could break all of the photographs. I could smash them on the floor and stamp on them, but what good would that do to me? It would just give me another reason as to why Ville would want to break up with me. 

A sudden knock on the door echoes throughout the empty apartment. My heart fills with hope as I picture Ville standing behind the door. He'll tell me that he's sorry and that he loves me, that he didn't mean what he said. 

Only a fool would believe that. 

I straighten my clothes as if that would even help how shitty I look. I haven't brushed my hair or teeth at all this morning, and now on top of that, my eyes are a little swollen from how much I had been crying last night. 

Walking towards the door feels like the biggest steps I've had to take in all my life. My hand hovers over the doorknob and I hesitate to open it, but I know that I'll regret it if I don't, so I take a deep breath and open it up. 

Ville stands in the doorway, holding nothing in his hands. He doesn't look good, either. His eyes are red, too, but not nearly as bad as mine. 

We both stare at each other as if we haven't seen each other in a very long time, like two long lost lovers. 

"I need to talk to you," He finally says and steps inside of the apartment, taking a seat on the couch. I shut the door behind him and sit down on the same couch, but as far away from him as I can. 

I feel betrayed by him. He had always promised me that we were together. I mean, isn't that what our tattoo signifies?

"Last night, my emotions were really high and I wasn't thinking clearly," He says. A flash of hope pierces my heart, but as quickly as it came, it disappears just as quickly as his eyes meet mine. If he wanted to get back together, he wouldn't be looking at me that way. Now I know how he felt when I broke up with him. 

"I still feel the same," He continues, crying softly. "And I'm sorry, but I need you to understand why I'm choosing to do this. You're not the same and I know that you're going through a lot with the miscarriage, but you're not doing anything to help yourself and instead you're taking it out on me."

"I'll go get help," I desperately tell him. "I'll go see a therapist if that's what you need."

He sighs and looks up at me with tears in his eyes. "Larissa, it's too late."

His words echo hollowly in my ear. 

It's too late. 

There's no hope.