History.

I looked at his side of the bed, crumpled and messy. My lips pursed in utter resentment. He could never manage to pull the covers up after he’d gotten up, leaving the imprint of himself creased into the sheets, taunting me with each passing day.

A cold shiver ran down my spine as I felt the crevice between us crack further. I knew I had been pulling away and he withdrew more and more with each breath that passed his lips. We barely spoke anymore, the space between us filling with history and regret.

I stood, my feet cold against the old hardwood floor of our bedroom. I pulled the blankets up with a fierce tug and as the sheet snapped from the end of the bed, something inside of me broke. Tears filled my eyes and poured over the brim before I had a chance to take a breath. I slumped down against the side of the bed, my body exhausted from the constant fight to put a temporary Band-Aid over the broken pieces of us. My body heaved as heavy sobs curled up from my toes and poured themselves out of me.

An hour passed before my eyes finally ran dry. My throat burned something fierce from the heavy sounds dislodging from my chest as I’d cried. My eyes were nearly swollen shut and my cheeks were rosy, as if I’d spent a full day in the sun. I was so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of being angry. Tired of all of it. I wasn’t sure though, if I had the guts in me to pack my shit and leave. The one thing I wanted more than anything, and fear had its sinewy fingers tied tightly around my feet, holding me hostage in a situation I didn’t want to be in.

Finally, I pulled myself from the floor and into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face and stared at the sullen, shell of the woman I once I was. We were happy once, I whispered to myself. Weren’t we? I watched the light behind my eyes fade further. I turned away sharply and headed back to our bedroom to remake the bed that I no longer wanted to sleep in.

***

I pulled the car out of the driveway slowly, half of me wanting her to come running down the walk and kiss me hard, like she used to. The other half dreading the idea of having to come back later to the thick silence and awkward dance we’d learned to avoid each other at all costs.

When did things get so complicated? I glanced at my sullen eyes in the rear view mirror. I looked awful. The sleepless nights and aching avoidance were finally taking their toll. My beard, now peppered with grey aged me at least ten years and the deep lines in my forehead from the constant headaches brought on from all the nagging and fighting were now etched deep, like giant war scars that would never fully heal.

At the office I found myself avoiding all human contact. It was easier to avoid the never ending questions about how we were doing than to put on the sickening fake smile anymore. I’d lied to everyone for so long that I wasn’t sure how to dig myself out of the gaping hole I was stuck in. My bones ached to go, to just pack my shit and leave a note but I wasn’t sure if I could actually do it. The fear churned inside of me at the thought. Fear of hurting her, fear of starting over, fear of doing what I needed to do for me kept pulling me back to the silence and the brewing war year after year.

***

I sat in the living room, curled up in a blanket, watching the roaring fire flicker against the walls of the quickly darkening room. It was hard to focus on anything other than the silence that was slowly crowding me out of my own house. I looked around at the photos on the wall, the smiling faces and the happy moments caught in a flash. Were they honest? Did we mean it? Our history rolled in like waves crashing wildly against a rocky shore. Images of our life flashed around my head, like needy children fighting for my attention.

A small glimmer of a happier time jumped out and I held on for the ride. Picnics in the park. New York. Morroco. Boston. A jar of dreams. Adventures. Plans. Kissing. Sweaty, passionate nights.

Tears poured from my eyes as the memory burned itself away, too far out of reach for me to hold on to. Anger crept its way up from deep in my belly, burning in my throat as I let out a hollow yelp and threw my wine glass straight into the fireplace, my hands trembling. I had plans before him. I had big plans to make something out of myself but somehow, a shy smile and a warm hand put my dreams on the backburner of my own life. He bought this giant house because he wanted the “American dream” in suburbia. I longed for old architecture, curved archways and thirteen foot ceilings in a studio apartment in the heart of downtown. I caved on everything. For him.

He promised me a life. He promised me adventure. He promised me more than this. More than deafening silence and resentful anger. He was supposed to protect me, to love me, to hold me up but he does nothing more than let me fall and walk away. I’m tired of the weight of the space lingering between us. I can’t hold us up anymore. I can’t bear the way my knees buckle at the sound of his voice or the way my skin crawls at his touch. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I have to give up on him.

***

The feeling of dread and panic that sets in on my drive home kept me in my office, staring at the city slowly brightening against the darkening sky. I can’t focus on anything but the emptiness that seems to be swallowing me whole. Nothing should hurt like this. I’m not sure if it can get much worse without destroying us both completely.

My phone buzzed behind me and I flinched. I flinched at the mere thought that it was her, checking up on me, nagging me to come home to sit in the desolation with her. I couldn’t stand the idea of watching us wither away further, next to her on the couch with an entire ocean between us. My stomach churned at the idea of another night curled up on the very edge of the bed, trembling at the thought that if our skin were to touch we’d both spontaneously combust and burn the whole thing down.

I pulled the photo from our wedding from my desk and stared at us. Two wide-eyed kids with no clue how fast life could slip through our fingers if we merely shifted too quickly. I bought her a house. A house! I gave her a life that most can only dream of. I worked so hard to keep her happy and she did nothing but tell me over and over again how it just wasn’t enough. My hands trembled at the sound of her voice grating across my memory and I threw the picture against the wall, glass shattering all over the carpet. Tears rose from nowhere and spilled down my face until my body gave up, exhausted and fully in defeat.

She was supposed to trust me. She was supposed to love me. Did those vows mean anything to her? She never gave me anything and I gave her all I had to give. She put the weight of our entire life on my shoulders and asked me to carry it all uphill and then screamed at me when my back nearly broke from the pressure. I can’t keep pushing us forward, alone, towards nothing. This has to give before it gets much worse. I have to give up on her.

***

His car pulled into the driveway late, but I wasn’t there to see it. After I’d shattered my wine glass into the fire, with the anger in my belly stifling the fear pulling at the edges of my sanity, I marched into the bedroom, pulled out my suitcase and packed as much as I could. I stopped in the kitchen and left my ring on the corner of the marble island that I never wanted to begin with.

Tears stinging my eyes I, got in my car and drove away, the opposite direction of how he came home. I couldn’t bear the idea of driving away from the life we both thought we had wanted and looking him in the eye while I did it. I thought about looking back, checking to see if he was pulling in just as I left, and maybe one last glance at the giant house I didn’t ask for, saying goodbye to a life cut short. Deep down I knew looking back would make me turn around and go back to a life that would suffocate me in my sleep. I needed to let our history be just that. History.

***

My back ached as I drove the long way home. I knew I was avoiding it, the conversation that we needed to have but that I worried would inevitably stall in my throat. My body trembled as memories of our life flashed in my mind with each passing street light.

Her soft hair. Her gentle laugh. Her kiss. Tears streamed down my face. Am I making a mistake? I glanced at my own eyes in the mirror and knew that it was the fear was pulling at my sanity. I couldn’t continue treading water with memories while unwittingly drowning in the raging sea. I was making the right choice, fear be damned.

As I turned down our street, my stomach flipped itself inside out and I broke out in a cold sweat. I pulled in the driveway and sat, cold and deflated. I couldn’t bring myself to open the door and go inside. I couldn’t face the tumultuous space that grew between us with each breath I took. Two hours and too many tears later, I opened the door and with a trembling hand, went inside the house, holding my breath against the wrath that awaited me.

I was met with thunderous silence. Not a creak of the floorboards. Not a soft snore of her sleeping on the couch. Not the clink of a wine glass being placed on the table, a sign of the battle to ensue. I looked around and saw the glittering ring on the counter. My knees gave out and I tumbled to the floor with a heavy thud. My breath came heavy and labored. I wasn’t sure if it was from relief or panic. Either way, I knew now I could leave our history as it should be. History.