Rubbing the dislodged sticker on the lighter she rolled her thumb backwards and forwards over it, all the while staring into space. Every so often a heaviness, a swelling - almost - of emotion would rise up in the ball of her throat ,and make its way up, through her mouth as a groan, to her nose as a deep inhale and through her eyes as tear drops she no longer noticed.
Helpless. That’s what she was. Helpless. Its crazy, she pondered, how one week, one day, one minute could change everything. Could take you from sitting comfortably atop the highest cloud, to smack bang crash landing on the floor in a heap of broken bones, limbs careening in every direction.
She wasn’t in the wrong, she knew that. But she also knew very well that opinions are exactly that. She could never put together his version of events. Only the version that had ripped her to shreds and left her in this ridiculous position.
She should have brushed it aside and gone on with her life, just as he had. But she didn’t want to. It was strange, despite having built up the ability to take control into her own hands – she didn’t want to. She wanted to give it to him – as long as it meant he would come back to her.
Typing his password into his private accounts she balked at just how quickly things could change. He had once been trusting, and loving and… guilty enough to give her access. Now the contents and communications he had in his private accounts were all she could know of him.
Anger rose up as she recalled how she had been forgiving when he had committed way worse of a sin. Calmly and maturely she had listened to his side of the story, made sure he understood it couldn’t happen again, then allowed her spirit to seep back into her body and through her eyes – the ones he had moments ago been beseeching of their emptiness.
But she knew she could never put together his version of events. And so she fiddled with the lighter, using it to ignite the only thing that could calm her mind.
