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HE WANTED TO SAY he's sorry, but Jonathan knows it's too late. You're out the door, maybe even out of town.
"I never want to see you again!" He recalls your angry shout, and the tears that followed confession.
His back is against the wall, the wall of your apartment, and across him is a shattered frame. Jonathan's hand is bleeding, a piece of glass sliced his hand as he crawled towards the broken frame that represented your broken relationship.
It's a picture you and him on the first anniversary you had with him. Big grins, a lovely candlelit restaurant, nothing could've gone wrong. At that moment, the two of you seemed like forever. He used to see you as his future wife, perhaps the woman to have his children.
"I said I'm sorry! Fuck, [Name] don't leave when I'm talking to you." Jonathan remembers replying to you, bellowing out that statement. But now the apartment is dark, your stuff is gone, and his voice is gone. His throat feels so hoarse, hot tears are running down his cheeks.
He looks back at the moment of you hastily running around the bedroom, shoving your most important clothes in a old duffle bag. You're sobbing so damn hard, and your makeup is fucked just like the damn relationship.
"Where are you going?" He asks, his voice suddenly quiet, a huge contrast from the shouting earlier.
"What does it look like, blondie? Away from you. God, I hate YOU." You spat backing, crying a bit harder. He tries to hug you, but you pushed him away.
"We are done, Brandis." You uttered, zipping the bag up.
"Baby, It was a MISTAKE. Please don't go, fuck, don't go..." Jonathan pleas, feeling his heart shatter into pieces.
It wasn't a mistake, Jonathan knew what he was doing but he just felt bad for being caught in the act. He wasn't too sure if he still loved you, but it seemed like it now that you were gone. Jonathan Brandis was many things, a teenage heartthrob, an son, an actor, and now a cheater.
Three years down the drain. You're gone, perhaps out of town or out of state, but definitely out of his life for good. Now, he's staring that that shattered frame of you two, not bothering to bandage himself, wondering how life would've been if you were still here.
