The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Fifteen

"I'm leaving," he said softly. I turned towards him, toothbrush still in my mouth.
"What?" I said, around it.
He didn't meet my eye.
"I got a job at the warehouse. I'm going to stay in a hostel until they house me. I've told them I'm homeless. You can stay here."
I could barely believe what I was hearing. He was leaving me here alone.
"But, my parents..."
"We're still married," he said. "But we don't have to live together. You don't have to be my wife anymore. You can do what you want. Go to college, get a job, you can even have a boyfriend if you want."
I stared at him disbelievingly. I couldn't understand what he was saying. I heard the words but they didn't reach my brain.
"You'll be happier that way?" He asked, but I still couldn't answer, couldn't even nod my head. I felt numb.

He was giving up on us. Without even really trying. He was giving up on me. I wasn't good enough for him.

He didn't wait for me to answer, just turned away and walked to the front door. I heard it open and close behind him. But I felt like I was underwater. Everything swam in and out of view, and my hearing was muffled and strange.

I sat down, right there on the bathroom floor. I sat down and began to cry. I knew not what else to do.