To Love Somebody

19. fanaa

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fanaa - destruction of the self; destroyed in love 

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Zander slowly opened the door to the house. It was a bit funny. He had been gone for a mere two weeks. And now, now that he had come back, the house was exactly as he had left it.

He had expected something, anything, to change. But it hadn't. It was as though he had never left. Never walked out on Misha as she stood in the doorway, crying and begging for him to stay.

He slowly made his way upstairs. He wasn't sure if Misha was home or not. Her car hadn't been in the driveway. Truthfully, he hoped that she wasn't home.

He wasn't ready to talk to her yet. He wasn't ready to explain things. Not ready to explain things, just yet.

He froze as he stood in the middle of the bedroom, the bedroom he had shared with Misha. His eyes darted around and the regret, it slowly seeped through.

Every little thing in that room was tied to Misha. He could basically see Misha as she bustled around the room, rushing to get ready for work. Or the way she threw her things on the floor as she came home, exhausted from yet another day. And the clutter of earrings scattered on the dresser as she could never decide which pair to wear. Then there was the wall framed with pictures, the pictures she had put up.

He sighed, walking over to the nightstand and picked up a photo frame. It was a picture – just a random picture. Misha was making a silly face and he, he was just smiling at her.

No matter how much Zander tried to hide it, the regret and the guilt, it colored his face.

Misha was his sunshine.

Yet now, everything mocked him. This was the life he had built with Misha. From the day they first bought the house and moved in to every birthday and holiday, to every little argument and the hope they held for the future. This was the place he had planned every second of his life with her.

It was the home, the home they had built together.

How could he have ruined it? Just like that?

Without another thought, he opened the closet. Yet again, he froze.

His life was intertwined with Misha. She was in everything.

Their clothes were all mixed up. His shirts were one place and her dresses another.

He stared at the closet as though he was stuck to the ground. Misha occupied every inch of his life. How could he just push her away now?

"Where have you been?" He jerked up, turning around to see Misha standing near the doorway.

Her voice was soft but hoarse. Yet the first thing he noticed was how pale she looked. Her cheeks sullen. Gone was the pregnancy glow that had accented her cheeks for weeks. Her eyes were dull. And puffy. Probably from all the crying. Gone was the hint of mischief and sparkle of happiness.

"I just came to get some stuff." He mumbled before turning back to the closet and pulling out an empty suitcase.

He refused to look at Misha. He couldn't look at Misha.

The silence in the room was painful. He knew her eyes followed his every move but still, she didn't respond.

"Don't you think I deserve an explanation?" He froze as she walked towards him. She stopped at the foot of the bed, close enough but almost as though she wanted to maintain a distance from him.