"Can you come over around 6? We need to talk."
I leapt from my seat on the couch, rapidly pressing the "send" button on my cell phone. Every call ending with his voice-mail.
"Hello?", he asked timidly, as if he were unsure about who was on the other end.
"So that's it? We're breaking up? I'm not waiting till 6. If we're doing this, it's on my terms," I spat. "Oh, and make sure my stuff is packed."
I hung up and jumped in my car. My heart was pounding; I had so much adrenaline pumping, my hands were shaking. I raced across town, coming to a stop in front of his house. I let myself in and made my way upstairs.
"At least you listened," I snarled, as I entered his bedroom. We had been here before- last time I had arrived to find my things still strewn around the room. Seeing everything in a neat little box, collected from various spots in the house, made it real.
My eyes boring a hole through him, as he stared at the ground.
"Well?" I asked, tapping my toe impatiently, waiting for him to speak.
He tried, but I interrupted, "So you go away for three days and all of a sudden you're over me? It only takes three days of not speaking for you to forget about me?"
"I tried, Amanda," he began, "I really did. I just can't anymore."
He finally looked at me. In turn, I raised my eyebrow, daring him to continue.
"This isn't working for me. I just..."
"...just don't love you," he flinched, as if threatened, his body recoiling from me.
I didn't move.
"What? You think I'm going to hit you?" letting out a small, sarcastic laugh.
He was silent.
A final eye roll and I grabbed the box; I was ready to leave, ready to be done.
This post is in response to a prompt at Write on Edge-we’re writing about pivotal conversations. The goal was to focus on body language, word choices, and the pauses between the words to create meaningful, powerful dialogue