16 Months

Numb

"She was trying to walk away and hold on at the same time. That's the mind at war with the heart."

- R. H. Sin

——

"I don't love you."

The harsh words echoed through his head. She was lying. He knew she was lying—but he also knew her well enough to know that if she was willing to lie to him about something so serious, she must really want him gone. The words hung thick in the air as they both tried to come to terms with the fact that she had said them. He blinked the tears out of his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat, using every ounce of courage he had left to form some type of response.

"Ok," he choked out, his voice breaking. "Then I guess I'll go." He hung his head and attempted to calm himself down with some deep breaths before slowly turning away from the woman he loved and walking into the bedroom to gather his things. Camila sat on the couch and watched as he carried his things out to his car, her face buried in her hands as she tried to convince herself that she was doing the right thing.

"That's...um," Shawn sadly mumbled as he stepped back into the house. "That's all of my stuff, so...yeah." Camila just looked up at him from where she sat on the couch and nodded. "Camila this isn't how I want to say goodbye. I don't want my last memory with you to be...this." He vaguely motioned between the two of them before sighing and moving to sit next to her on the couch.

"I'm sorry," she choked out just above a whisper. "I'm sorry it has to end this way."

"It doesn't, though. It doesn't have to end this way," he reminded her, cautiously placing his hand on top of hers. "If you really need me to go, then I'll go. But if there's any part of you that wants me to stay—tell me, and I'll stay." Tears began steadily pouring down her cheeks as she silently cried. Her lip quivered as she wrapped her arms around him and held him close. He was caught off guard by her actions, but he welcomed it. He found himself taking the opportunity to memorize the way her body felt in his hands, the way her head felt as she laid against his chest, the way her hair smelled as he buried his face against the top of her head. If this was his last moment with her, he wanted to be able to remember every aspect of it forever.

"I'm sorry," she sighed against his chest. "But I need you to go." She pulled away from him and the look on his face nearly convinced her to let him stay, but she couldn't.

"Ok." He knew it wasn't much to say, but it was all that he could muster up at the moment. He gently squeezed her delicate hands in his one last time before standing up from the couch and moving towards the door. He stood in the doorway unable to move—knowing that when he left there was a large possibility it would be the last time he would ever get to see her. He slowly turned to face her one last time, his heart breaking at the sight of the small, broken girl sitting cross-legged on the couch.

"For the record," he softly spoke. "I do love you...and nothing is going to change that. And..." his voice broke into a cry before he could fully finish his sentence. "And if you ever change your mind, or...I don't know, if you just need someone to talk to. You'll always have me. I may not always have you, but you'll always have me," he reiterated. She nodded sadly before dropping her face down to her lap, watching herself twiddle her thumbs. Though she was the one telling him to leave, she couldn't bare to watch him walk away. She had lied when she told him she didn't love him and she knew that. She did love him—she loved him enough to let him go.

She barely even heard the sound of the door closing behind him through the sound of her own crying. She looked up and saw him get into his car, but he wasn't leaving. He just sat there in the running car, clutching onto the steering wheel as he sobbed. It killed her to see him in so much pain, but she knew that what he was feeling now was only a fraction of the hurt he would feel if they continued down the road they had been on. She dropped her face into her hands and broke down completely. The painful sobs were so intense that her body heaved with each cry, her weakened lungs desperately gasping for air. By the time she had finally collected herself enough to lift her head back up, his car was no longer in the driveway. He had left, just as she had told him to.

——

His knuckles turned white as he clutched onto the steering wheel, desperately trying to regulate his breathing and control his sobs. The drive from her house to his apartment wasn't a long one, but the pain he was feeling made it feel like forever. When he finally arrived to his place, he got out and went inside—leaving his things from her place in his car. He held onto the hope that this separation was temporary, that she would call him tonight and tell him to come back to her. As soon as he brought his stuff back inside he would be acknowledging to himself that they were really over, and he wasn't ready to admit that yet.

He stepped into his apartment that, despite having the heat on, felt impossibly cold. The place was fully furnished but still felt empty. Without her, everything felt empty. He walked in and collapsed on his bed and cried into his pillow before succumbing to his old habits. He told himself he'd never do it again, that he had healthier ways of coping with his pain. But then again, his pain had never been this bad before. So he stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of whiskey that sat atop the fridge. Deciding a glass wasn't necessary, he screwed off the cap and took a swig. The amber liquid burned his throat, but the pain was welcome. Anything that could distract him from his shattered heart was welcome. So he took another swig.

And another.

And another—until the pain had subsided into a dull ache and he, at best, felt numb.