magnetic and poisonous

She sat down at the table with tears in her eyes. He was still standing, looking away from her, as she was looking away from him. The floor suddenly had such intricate details that she felt she could look at it forever. Or at least until he left.

He bent over, and with the gesture of a movie star, bent her chin upwards so she couldn't look away anymore. It felt almost rehearsed, this moment; absurd and awkward. She resisted his touch, and pulled away.

He cleared his throat.

'You know we can't do this anymore.'

It was a statement of fact. She had to agree with him; there was nothing else to say, really.

'Yes.' She whispered this, feeling like she could neither raise her voice or her face for fear of crying out and throwing herself at him. He was magnetic. And poisonous.

'Good.' He turned to leave, and she saw his dirty canvas shoes turn away from her. She was still not looking at his face. The shoes turned back for a moment. She was still looking at the floor.

There was a pause and then an intake of breath, like he wanted to say something more.

But he didn't, and turned and walked away.

It was only when she heard the door close she felt safe to look up once more. Her eyes had dried by now, but there was a fury building in her chest, clogging up her lungs and making it difficult to breathe in. Hard sharp breaths punctured the silence.

Looking outside to the verandah, she saw the light was that strange yellow-green, the beginning-of-spring light, the light that filters through grey clouds on an early Spring afternoon.

She stood, still breathing fast, shaking a little. Walked to the door, and opened it. A chill breeze blew in, and she inhaled, deeply, steadying herself.

Oh, she thought, it's for the best really.

But she knew, deep down, it wasn't over. It was never over.