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“Don’t, alright? Just… don’t.” Her voice falls to a hushed sigh. She pinches the bridge of her nose, and a horrible feeling of dread swells in David’s chest. It douses and drenches his anger, leaving nothing but stone cold remorse.
“Vicky, look-“
“ David !” She snaps. She never snaps. “I need some time.”
“Okay..” He can do that. He can do more time. He can wait. Again. He’s waited for three years, what’s a little bit more?
“We aren’t the same people, David,” she says, softer this time. Both her voice and David’s heart are breaking. “Not anymore.”
All he must do is breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out.
“I’m sorry, really, I am. We can work this out, if we want to.” Her voice sounds far away, deep and muffled by the shrill ringing in his ears.
“Yes, that’s fine,” he mumbles, barely registering the words leaving his mouth. Something in Vicky’s face changes, and she takes a small step towards him. There is something akin to pity in her eyes, if he were to pin it down.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats herself. Her hand is icy against his raging cheek.
David says nothing back to her. He gives himself the small indulgence of savouring the feel of her palm before he pulls away.
She too takes a step back. The yonderly distance is far too familiar. It is a feeling he has become accustomed to all too well.
“I’ll message in the morning,” he hears her say, but he does not see her lips move.
When dawn breaks, his phone remains despondently silent.
-
Time passes, it must do. For that is what time does, has done, will do. It will pass, leaving him clawing through the mud, desperately trying to catch up, with life and joy and soul slipping through his fingers like fine sand.
David sees her next at some kind of work party, he can’t really remember. But he does remember how her smile doesn’t quite reach the corners of her eyes, and how she reaches for her sixth glass of liquor.
He knows he should find someone else, another guiding light, another spirit. And yet, all he can imagine is her lips, the weight of her hips against his own, the tickle of her golden hair.
-
The next time he sees her, a gold band shines around her finger, and he excused himself to be sick in the men’s bathroom.
-
It takes him a while, but he starts to be okay again. He manages to make the same old jokes about his personal loneliness without the taste of acid on his tongue. It still hurts, but not as much. Just as long as she’s happy.
As long as she’s happy.