There was hurt. There was pain. There was anger. And above all, there was hate. She’d only just begun to feel it but as yet couldn’t define it. Until she saw it mirrored in his very brown eyes. And she’d finally understood. This was hate. And this was what it felt like. She’d thought she’d known, until now. This was it. This was the end. His mouth hung open the very same way hers had 3 seconds ago. And attempted to shut in four different ways. But only succeeded in contortion and mild groanings; she couldn’t stop staring at the monster that used to be the man, the devil that used to be the darling. The beast that used to be her beau.
The long single tear trickled silently down her left cheek. The stamp of approval she’d been waiting for, but not expecting. Not in this way. The arrow that pointed the direction her new life would take. She could see that he’d understood, interpreted it perfectly. His still open mouth couldn’t find the words, couldn’t form the words. She saw his anguish and it blackened her hate further. He was lucky. She was grateful the words couldn’t make it past the lump in his throat. If they had, they’d . . . all she could see through the blindness of rage were claw marks, drawn in blood across the hate, marring them and driving her further to madness.
That was the only way she could describe what the hate would become, what it was already becoming because her imagination had grown and created. Time died. Earth disappeared. It was just the two of them. Emotions had never spoken so loudly and she’d never listened more intently. If words had come out. If those words had been ”I’m sorry” . . . She knew she’d have killed him. Or would have attempted to. That was the only way she’d have been able to see again. So she didn’t even give him the chance to hang himself, he was going to live through the bad name for the rest of his life. By this time the tear had sunk to her chin and was snaking its way down her throat. She felt it form a partner, felt it reach out in its loneliness and beg for companionship. She couldn’t let that happen. She had a message to deliver.
She stared into those very brown eyes and watched in delicious agony as he raced from pillar to post in turmoil. She read it all: the apology, the self loathing, the wish to take it all back, and above all the need for forgiveness. Then she blinked once and all the emotion disappeared, and left her feeling bereft. But just before it fully set in its shape around her, she blinked it away. Just once. And so quickly it could have been an illusion. Then she let him see. The blank stare. The emptiness. She took it all and poured it out to him. She let him read it. She didn’t give him the chance to decipher completely - a little here, a little there - before he pieced it together and formed a defense with which to break her. She let him see the totality of the emptiness as she delivered. She gave him less than a heartbeat to figure it out. And when he did, she knew. First, he recoiled. Then, he sucked in air. He’d understood. It was loud and clear: From this day on, you are dead to me.
Her message had been delivered. She turned her back against him. And walked out the door with an air of finality.
Onu’a had just been wounded.
