Say you'll stay - Channing Tatum

P.24

His hands leave the pockets of his jacket and his eyes move from left ro right, trying to steady on one point but are giving him away.

I don't have anything to say to him, to anyone really. The line between who's to blame is fading and I'm starting to think I'm the problem.

I want to break something, hurt someone, scream even.

The longer I look at him the more upset I get.

But I still watch him looking at me, the way his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips slightly parted, but also how his hands now are hanging on either side of his body, not moving at all.

It reminds me of the first time we met. That night at the porch where I left my drink behind to talk to both of them, Channing and Cynthia, and struggled with the way my hands seemed to hang idly. It feels like such a long time ago.

"I don't want you to come by the coffeeshop," I breathe in shakily "and I don't want to see your name on my phones display, or hear your voice, so don't call me." I sound determined and it surprises me, because I think I'm mostly trying to convince myself of the distance I'm preaching. "Don't even say my name."

He takes a step forward, towards me as he begins, "Brooke, can you just wai-"

I put my hand up in defense to keep him from getting any closer as I interrupt him with a short laugh. "You're joking, right?"

He clenches his hands into fists and I watch as his knuckles turn white from the strength. He notices me looking and releases the grip, his hands regaining its color.

"If you'd just let me explain."

I look up and catch his eyes. I'm all for second chances, I should know out of all people, but how do you move on from the first chance if you're not even certain you gave each other one.

Now it's my turn to take a step towards him. The sound of my foot against the old floor fills the room and he makes no effort to stop me. The space between us isn't further than an arm lenghts now and the height difference between us suddenly got much more noticeable.

I can smell his fragrance from where I stand and without thought I take a deep breath, letting it sink in before I open my mouth to speak again. "But I don't want to hear it."

I keep my eyes on him as he does the same. The uncertainty he a moment held onto is gone and his eyes are steady on mine.

"Good luck with everything," I wish him as I pick up my shoes from the floor. "and I hope everything between you and Cynthia works out, I really do." I give him a small smile before I turn around to walk out from the apartment I no longer want, nor to be in.

It seems like it takes him a few seconds to take in what is happening because three seconds pass before he reacts by walking after me. "Stop," he calmly tells me, but I don't.

"Can you just stop," His voice is pleading, begging for me to stay and listen to him, but I don't want to. I really don't. Because I don't know if I'll start crying or if I'll suddenly scream. I don't know if I'll hit him out of anger or if I'll completely breakdown. I don't know, so I just want to leave.

He grabs my arm and turns me around so I'm facing him. "It's my turn now, let me talk." He tries to convince me to let him but I'm not giving in.

"Let go of my arm." I say, not missing a beat.

I'm so close to the door I'm able to count the steps to the threshold. All I want to do is leave, the walls are keeping me from breathing and I need to get out of here.

His facial expression is softening even more and words aren't needed to express what he wants and needs me to do. But I need something else, something he can only give me by letting go of my arm.