The Words We Don't Say

The tears trickle slowly down my rough dark skin and hit the ground with little splashes of sadness. Weeping quietly in a bathroom stall isn't as easy as the movies make it seem. My chest is tight, making it hard for me to breathe, and the stench from the next stall is strangling away the little breath I struggle to get. My mind tunes out all imaginations about the germs breeding on the very floor on which I sit. I dare not even think what that little brown dropping beside the toilet brush really is.

It's not hard to do so. When your world is crumbling all around you, do you really care about filth? I raise my knees up to my mouth to quell the screams that want to rage out and to allow a tiny fly make its way into the stall. Who am I to stop it? The wails are coming in stronger waves now, and my head throbs in pain. I can't control this reaction. I feel like an outsider watching my body wallow in suffering and sadness. I'm crying, pulling my hair, and doing all except what I want to do: say yes.

Why did I say no? Why did I interrupt the man that I loved asking me the question I had waited months for with an abrupt and resounding "No"? The entire restaurant had gone quiet, pretending to be entirely focused on their overpriced meals. He was in shock. There was hurt there, yes, but shock was the dominant emotion. He had expected a yes. I had expected a yes! I had dashed out of the room before he could say anything else. Now here I am, locked in a bathroom stall, crying out my heart for the broken heart of my lover.

"Remi?"

I hush my wails and hold my breath for no particular reason. I know he will obviously see me underneath the door, but as we humans do, I still pointlessly try to avoid the inevitable.

I see his feet stride from the entrance to my stall. I can picture his face right now: angry and hurt but worried. Jaw locked in a tight clench, eyes light red. He's likely digging his fingers into his palms till they turn white with worry lines scribbled all over his forehead, controlling the head veins that want to pop out. He doesn't try to open the door. He just stands, as if waiting for something.

Two souls separated by a door, both sharing similar emotions: pain, hurt, sadness.

He lets out a deep sigh and heads back towards the exit.

"Wait" I call out meekly.

Now I am sure I have completely lost control of my words. I was literally just holding my breath because of him, and now I don't want him to leave. Either I am crazy or the putrid smell is rotting my brain.

"Why?" he asks in a gruff but wavering tone.

"I...I don't know."

Someone, seriously turn off my mouthpiece.

He scoffs and opens the exit door.

"Because I love you" I call out before he leaves.

Finally back in control. He hesitates and closes the door but doesn't walk back to my door.

"Why are you doing this to me, Remi?" he whispers, but I hear him over the thick silence around us. He continues,

"We both wanted marriage. And I know you love me. But maybe not enough to marry me."

"No. No. That's not it."

"Then what? What is it, please?"

I swallow the lump of saliva stuck in my throat and take a deep breath. Deep down, I know the answer, but if I tell him the actual truth, I will lose him for good. That's why I choose to lie.

"It's marriage. Settling down and actually not being independent is scary. It's like the second to the last stage before death. It's like my life is ending before my eyes."