Muse [18+] • REVISING

29 | Irony

V E R A

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The air stills a bit and so does our breathing but the look in Damien's eyes doesn't follow. It's a simple question, a no-brainer, and I have no clue why he'd overthink this.

"For winter break? I'd absolutely love to," I reply, giving him a genuine smile.

He doesn't return the excitement and I feel a pang in my stomach; a gut feeling. His silence is stalling and I feel my skin grow warm underneath my sweater. I brushed the feeling off as I knew better than to make assumptions with Damien.

"Why are you being weird?" I huff, playfully smacking him on the chest.

Still, he doesn't speak.

"Damien?"

He brings his eyes up to mine and they're like porcelain. I feel my eyebrows slightly twitch and I realize this is maybe more than a vacation proposal. His expression acts as an apology, trying to confess the things he can't say out loud.

"Just tell me," I reassure, sinking my teeth into my lip.

"I'm leaving Paris next week," he finally confesses and my head starts to spin.

The mind perceives everything that your heart refuses to and that's what makes grief so hard to overcome. Without even knowing it's happening, you feel the pain start to settle and so begins the five stages. As the ringing in my ears stopped and I blinked away the initial impact of his words, I was left in denial.

"Are you visiting your mother? A business trip?" I tried to come up with excuses.

"Vera," he exhaled. "I'm being let go. The museum—"

"Tell me you're lying," I interrupt him, immediately shutting him down. "Tell me you're just playing games with me right now,"

Please lie to me. All he can do is shake his head and I feel lost once again.

The energy changes and it feels like this afternoon never happened. I dreamt up the past few hours, sitting across from someone who I believed was happy. I push myself up from his lap and feel my body run even warmer, hot. I don't know this feeling but it hurts and I refuse to understand it. I wrap my sweater tighter around my body and only attempt to process.

"What happened?" I quietly ask, keeping my composure.

"I'll explain everything when we get back home," he tries to ease the tension but not even a knife could cut through its thickness.

Maybe it's the exhaustion that waves over me but I don't argue with him. Instead, we clean up the temporary avoidance of a sunset picnic and silently walk back to the car. He doesn't hold my hand or touch me, I don't let him. I keep my eyes on the stone path in front of us until I see the red vehicle come into view. We put everything into the trunk and I open my own door this time.

The drive back feels longer than the twenty-minute route. I think about what we might talk about, how I'm supposed to handle a situation like this. Is he asking me to pick up everything once again and leave with him? A part of me wants to give in and experience more, for he is the only person that has shown me life. A part of me is not ready for change, not this time. The internal conflict only worsens as we reach the gates of his home.

We pull into the garage and the next few minutes are just us going through the motions until we find ourselves in the living room. I'm standing near the window and I watch as he sits down on the couch, hunched over with his elbows propped up on his thighs. He can't bring himself to look at me and it only pains me more.