Broken.

It was hard to say how I really felt about the situation. The brunette before me thrashing about the room, nonsensically conjuring up every insult, and every combination of expletives she could. What sparked this was unbeknownst to me. So I let it happen.

“Calm down.” I practically whisper, my dark eyes roll in annoyance as she breaks a plate in the sink. Her usual gesture for _you calm down. _

It lasted a good two hours before she finally left.

I could breathe again, at least for now, since she always came back. I’d feel my heart sink and my stomach cinch at the sound of jiggling keys at the door. She’ll come in, crying most likely, acting sweetly, and apologizing uncontrollably.

“Take me back!” she’d say her voice hoarse from the shouting prior; and I would. I always did.

“Don’t worry,” I’d console, opening my arms for her to step forward, the sweet scent of her shampoo from that morning would sweep over me in the embrace.

I regretted my empathy.

I sat there, on the couch, my belt buckle strewn open, my shirt lying on the floor carelessly. I wait for her, as I always do, occasionally letting my hearing flicker toward the front door.

No jingling.
No presence.

Broken.

Amber Kipp

Key West, United States

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You don’t realize till it’s gone.

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