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The acrid, sharp scent of cigarette smoke is familiar by now. It clings to his clothes, weaves itself into his scent. You’ve pleaded for him to stop, and he doesn’t listen.
He never listens.
“Where are you going.” Your words are flat, and they’re not a question, they’re a statement. You can see Kenny’s hand turn bone-white where it rests on the door handle, his posture stiff and unyielding. These days, he’s always paranoid, alert for any non-existent dangers that might be lurking in dark corners.
“Out.”
It’s said with finality, his voice hoarse and sharpened from smoking. Your heart sinks, but you take a step forward. “Are you sure? I—“ He turns to face you, finally, his features shrouded in darkness. His eyes shine with lamplight before they fade to black once more. “Don’t—don’t tell me that I can’t handle it. You don’t get to decide that for me.”
That sparks something in you, and even though your chest is tight and everything you want to say is caught in your throat, you stand up taller. “I’m telling you this because you can’t seem to recognize that you’re not replaceable. Not to me.” His eyes flare with something fiery, and his words come out in a low hiss. “You can’t fix me, and I don’t want to be fixed.”
Your chest tightens, and you open your mouth, but the words don’t come. He turns away, unlocking the door. “Don’t follow me.” The wind that rushes through the crack between the door and the wall chills the room, but you barely feel it. The lock clicks with a dull thunk, sealing the divide between you and him.
You feel numb, empty inside, although that’s nothing new. Tears well up, and you blink them away, still staring at the door. You know he will be back in the late hours. He will come back smelling of cigarettes and blood, and you will smile.
You will smile and play the role of a loving partner. You will clean him up, kiss his smoke-tainted lips, and sleep in the same bed as him. Neither of you will mention the knife under his pillow or the bruises littering his skin.
Because you still have love for him, and you still have the foolish hope that you can save him.
You cannot fix a broken man, no matter how hard you try.