Break Me

11

I hoped that cleaning the apartment would help clear my mind. The sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden light over the hardwood floors. Dust motes floated in the rays, dancing gracefully, creating a scene that should have felt peaceful. But instead, they only seemed to spotlight the turmoil in my heart, each swirl a reminder of my chaotic thoughts. As I picked up a rag and started wiping down surfaces, I found myself lost in thought, wishing I could scrub away the doubts that lingered just beneath the surface.
Our apartment was warm and lived-in, cluttered with the small, familiar details of our lives—Trevor's sketchbooks were scattered across the coffee table, his jacket was slung carelessly over the back of a chair, and my textbooks were piled high on the desk in the corner. I wiped down the counters, humming softly to myself, hoping that keeping busy would chase away the growing unease that had settled in my chest over the past few weeks.
I moved into the bedroom, grabbing the laundry basket from the corner. The smell of his cologne lingered faintly in the room. This scent used to bring me comfort, but now only it reminded me of the distance growing between us. I stripped the sheets off the bed and something hard and unfamiliar rolled fell out from under the bed frame. It clattered onto the floor, with a sharp, metallic sound.
I stared at it for a moment, my heart stopping as I realized what I was looking at.
A needle. A fucking needle. In our room. In our bed.
I bent down slowly, picking it up with trembling fingers. It felt cold and foreign in my hand, a stark contrast to everything I thought I knew about Trevor. My mind raced as I tried to make sense of what I was holding. Was this... his? The very thought sent a wave of nausea through me, and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, still clutching the needle, my thoughts spiraling out of control. The signs were there—how distant he had become, how he spent more and more time away, how he always seemed on edge, but I never imagined this. I didn't want to believe it.
I heard the front door open, and Trevor's footsteps echoed through the hallway. He called out my name, but I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. My body was frozen in place, my mind stuck in a loop of disbelief and dread. I heard him approach the bedroom, his footsteps slowing as he saw me sitting there, holding the needle.
"What the fuck is this?" I finally managed to say, my voice low and shaking, each word a fragile thread connecting us in this moment of uncertainty.
Trevor stopped in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "What are you talking about?"
"This!" I held up the needle, my hand trembling.
His expression shifted in an instant, from confusion to something harder, something defensive. "That's not mine."
I stared at him, incredulous. "Are you fucking serious? I just found it in our bed!"
"I said it's not mine,"his tone clipped, as if that was the end of the discussion.
I stood up, my anger rising like a tide. "Stop fucking lying to me, Trevor. I'm not stupid!" I shook the needle in front of him, my voice growing louder with each word, each syllable a dagger aimed at the heart of our relationship.
He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tightening. "I'm not using drugs, Ellie."
"Then explain this!" I shouted, my emotions boiling over like a volcano ready to erupt.
"Ellie, I'm telling you, it's not what you think," he said, his voice rising now too, the heat of our argument igniting a fire that threatened to consume us both. "I'm not on drugs. That needle isn't mine."
"Then whose is it?" I demanded, stepping closer to him, feeling the heat of my anger radiating through my whole body like an electric charge.
"I don't know how it got there, but it's not mine. I swear to God, Ellie, I wouldn't lie to you about this."
"Really? Because it sure as hell seems like you're lying to me about a lot of things lately," I spat, my heart pounding in my chest like a war drum.
His face twisted in anger, and he took a step forward, fists clenched at his sides, the tension palpable. "I told you, it's not mine. Why can't you just believe me for once?"
"Because you've given me no reason to believe you!" I shouted, my voice cracking under the weight of my emotions, the walls I had built around my heart threatening to crumble.
He stared at me, his eyes hard and cold, and for a moment, I thought he might explode. But instead, he turned away, running both hands through his hair in frustration, the anger giving way to something more vulnerable. "I can't fucking deal with this right now," he muttered, his voice a mixture of desperation and resignation.
I watched him pace the room, my heart breaking with every step he took away from me, each movement a reminder of the distance that had grown between us. "What happened to us?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper now, the vulnerability spilling from me like a wound that refused to heal. "We were happy. We had everything, and now... now it feels like you're slipping away, and I don't know how to stop it."
He stopped pacing and looked at me, his expression unreadable, a mix of frustration and pain. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't feel it too?"
"Then why won't you talk to me?" I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes, each drop a silent plea for him to see how much I cared, how deeply I wanted to understand him.
"Because I don't know what you want me to say, Ellie!" he shouted, his voice breaking, the dam of his emotions threatening to burst. "I don't know how to fix this. Everything is fucked up, and I don't know how to make it right."
"Then let me help you," I said, stepping closer to him, my voice softening, each word a lifeline thrown into the raging sea of our conflict.
He looked at me, his eyes full of pain and anger, and for a moment, I thought he might finally open up, might finally allow me to see the vulnerable man behind the bravado. But then he shook his head, his expression hardening again, as if he were sealing himself off from me once more. "I already told you. I'm not on drugs. That needle isn't mine."
The weight of his denial crashed down on me, and I felt my heart shatter into a thousand pieces, each fragment a reminder of the love I once knew, now lost in the haze of his struggles. I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't keep fighting for someone who wouldn't fight for us.
"Fine," I said, my voice hollow, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "If that's how you want to play it, then go ahead. Don't expect me to stick around while you self-destruct."
He stared at me, his face a mixture of anger and hurt, but he didn't say anything. He just stood there, watching as I walked out of the bedroom, the needle still clenched tightly in my hand, a physical manifestation of everything I feared. I tossed it into the trash on my way out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me, each action punctuating the finality of our exchange.
The air outside was crisp, the early evening sky tinged with orange as the sun began to set, the world around me painted in vibrant hues that felt so distant from the darkness I carried inside. I walked aimlessly down the street, my mind racing with everything that had just happened. How had we gotten here? How had things fallen apart so quickly?
I thought back to the first few months living together in our apartment, how happy we had been, how we had laughed and dreamed about a future together. We had talked about everything—about building a life, a family. But now... now I didn't even know if I wanted that anymore. Not with the person Trevor had become.
I found a bench in the small park down the street and sat down, burying my face in my hands, the world pressing down on my shoulders. I didn't want to cry, but the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable, flowing like a river of grief for what we had lost. I had tried so hard to be there for him, to support him, but it felt like no matter what I did, it was never enough. He always kept me at arm's length, hiding his pain, his struggles, until they exploded in moments like this, leaving us both shattered.
As I sat there, the world around me continued its dance, children playing, couples walking hand in hand, laughter echoing through the park. It was as if life was moving on without me, each moment a reminder of how trapped I felt in this cycle of pain and uncertainty. I didn't know how to reach him anymore. I didn't know if I could.
I wanted to believe that we could overcome this, that love was enough to bridge the gap that had grown between us. But with each passing day, I felt that hope slipping away, like sand through my fingers. I remembered the way he used to smile, how his laughter would fill the room, how he made me feel like everything would be okay. Now, all that remained were the echoes of those memories, haunting me with what could have been.
I thought of all the little things—the way he used to hold my hand when we walked, how he would pull me into his arms after a long day, the quiet moments spent together in comfortable silence. I missed that Trevor, the one who had dreams and ambitions, the one who made me feel like I was the center of his universe. This stranger who stood before me now, defensive and closed off, felt like a ghost haunting the remnants of our relationship.
With a deep breath, I wiped my tears away, trying to gather the scattered pieces of my resolve. I couldn't give up on him, not yet. I had to believe that the Trevor I loved was still inside, buried beneath the layers of pain and anger. But how could I reach him if he refused to let me in?
I knew I needed to make a decision. I had to confront the reality of our situation and find a way to either pull him back from the edge or protect myself from the fallout of his choices. I couldn't keep living in this state of limbo, caught between love and despair, hope and hopelessness.