When everything feels like it's going right, it probably isn't. I learned that the night that my boyfriend told me that he didn't love me anymore. That he never did, in fact. It was quite a strange night, let me tell you.
My boyfriend texted, telling me that we were going to watch a movie that night. I never thought much of it, he always talked like that to me. Another way things can deceive you. I brushed off all of my responsibilities for the evening and head out to his house.
The walk there was less than pleasant. It was drizzling and the frigid wind made my fingers feel non-existent. But I thought it was all worth it and, to this day, I still hold on to that hope. When I got to my boyfriend's house, something already seemed off. All of the lights in his house were turned off, not a single window had a golden glow. Strange, seeing as the house was always action-packed and welcoming.
The door swung open, moments after I'd rung the doorbell. I was greeted by the menace himself. He wore a glittery smile, like freaking Edward Cullen. Imagine Edward Cullen; that was him. He was also holding a bouquet of gorgeous flowers. He knew I hated flowers. And just as I was about to question him on the odd manner of our rendez-vous that evening, he cut me off so fast I swear he could've sliced me with one of his shimmering teeth.
"Hey, sweetheart," he said, mouth dripping with honey.
"Hi...," I responded, weary of what was to come.
He took this meek greeting onto a whole new level.
"I guess you've heard about what people are saying about us-."
"No, I haven't."
He put his hand on my shoulder, "Let me talk, baby."
This was about to get good. Or bad. Depends on who you are in this situation.
He started again, "They've been saying that, we... we're breaking up, broken up. You know the drill"
"Yeah, but we've always gotten through that."
"But this time... I'm thinking we don't."
If you're wondering, this is where my heart stopped. They could've called the city morgue and put me on a slab, right then and there.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I near shouted.
"You know exactly what I mean, we're splitting up, finished, dunzo..."
"W-w-what? Why?"
"Open your eyes, Cleo, we were never meant to be."
"But you always said you loved me," I whispered, "Did you even...," I trailed off.
My tongue refused to budge after his head started shaking back and forth. He took a small a small step forward and roughly shoved the bouquet in my hands.
And with that he put his feet back on the threshold, his smile returning to it's original state. I was speechless, unable to process what exactly had happened.
But with one last turn of the heel he let me have a final glimpse of his face.
He said my worst nightmare out loud, "I never did."
I lost it after that. I threw the flowers on his front porch and banged my fists on the front door until they were almost bruised.
"What the fuck? W-what does this mean? WHY? Why?" I screamed out into the air.
Tears were bunching up in my eyes, making my vision blurry. I cursed myself for crying. I hated crying.
I put my back up against the door, feeling the cool metal, with the occasional spider web tickling my neck. Wiping at my cheek, stopping the stream, I realized that me crying at his doorstep would achieve nothing. If he didn't love me then, it's not like my red, blotchy-face would win any affections.
Grabbing the flowers, I took off into the street. I made it about halfway home before I decided something had to be done about the bouquet, because there was no way in hell I was bringing them into my home. I stopped in front of a random house that looked empty. Either that or everyone inside was asleep and was going to wake up to quite a mess in their lawn.
The packaging was the hardest to take apart, I have to say. Ripping the cellophane and ribbon was no easy task, really taxing on the triceps and biceps. Once that was on the ground, I started, flower by flower, taking the bud off of each stem. I tore up the stem into tiny, little pieces and scattered them in the driveway.
I threw the detached petals into the wind and watched them land in the grass, like sprinkles on a cupcake. The buds were chucked up by the stairs that lead to the door and bounced into the garden. I wasn't exactly littering if it was put in the place it came from, right?
More tears came. I also learned that I was an angry crier. Interesting.
I nearly jumped out of my boots when the door opened. In the frame, stood a tall man, but I couldn't see his features with the bright back-lighting.
"Might I ask what you're doing in front of my house with the ruins of, what looks like, a nice bunch of flowers?"
