Genius (CENTURIES series: Book #2)

33

When Mia walked in through the door, she had expected a lot of things. But never this. Not him, leaving.

Time had frozen. What a cliché thing to say, but it had. The noises from outside had died down and the silence inside the apartment somehow became the noise that made her ears drum and her head pound.

He had his bag packed, had his feet in his shoes and had his cap on backwards. He didn't meet her eyes. Not yet, but then he did.

He might as well have slapped her. It felt the same way. The coldness. The wall was up. He wasn't here, he had disconnected.

That made her look down, watch her worn out sneakers. He was going to end it. How ironic. She had met with Anna earlier to fix it. And here he was, leaving her, without even saying goodbye, it seemed.

Leaving or running? The voice in her head asked her.

She didn't know and maybe she didn't want to. Either way, it didn't make it hurt any less. It still stung and tasted like gasoline in her mouth. After everything, he was giving up on them.

It was because of last night, wasn't it? He had been able to tell. The tattoo had probably given her away.

"Where will you go?" She heard herself say, but she didn't recognize her voice. It was just a hoarse, crackly sound, weighed with so much pain.

"Don't know yet," He replied tonelessly. "I'll find something."

She just gave a single nod, because she didn't trust her voice again. Those two hours spent at the cafe with Anna suddenly seemed redundant. The speech Anna had helped her learn, the words, they slipped from her mind. She forgot what she was supposed to do. It wasn't crafted for this.

She walked further into the apartment, because she couldn't just stand there in front of the door that was taunting her. Mocking her. As if saying it was the only thing that could stop him from going, and there it was, standing wide open.

She stopped when she found herself standing in front of him, just a mere three feet away. He was glaring at her, but she couldn't look at him. Instead she looked at his hand, the one that had an image of Salvador Dali tatted on it, the same hand that was coiled around the strap of his duffle.

"So this is it?" She found herself speaking again. She didn't know where these words came from. She didn't want an answer to this one.

"I told you, we're not playing house. You're not my girlfriend. I no longer need to hide. I got no reason to stay."

That hurt more than any other thing he could've said. More than when he called her a bitch or empty. Selfish. Judgmental. She wished he would say all that again. Anything but what he just said.

I got no reason to stay.

"You were not going to say goodbye, were you?" Again, she didn't want the answer, but she still found herself asking.

And of course he had to reply. That's what happened when you asked questions. "No. Thought it would be easier for you that way."

She scoffed, because... well, that was just evil. "Easier for me or easier for you?"

"Easier for you, and you know that. Stop acting like this has meant something to me, all we ever did was fuck."