Drenched in Goodbyes

The windshield wipers automatically start to whoosh back and forth as a light drizzle begins. A peppy pop song blasts through my speakers, and I flick the radio off in annoyance. The swirling thoughts ricocheting between my temples are enough noise right now, so I'd rather drive in silence. My hands grip the wheels tightly, turning my knuckles white with anxiety.

I pull into her neighborhood and weave my way between poorly parked cars and other residents hurrying inside. Despite the rain, I take my time - the lump in my throat grows, and the pit in my stomach sinks further with every step I take towards her apartment. I open my phone and text her that I'm here. I reread the last messages, and feel my heart drop again.

-- Can you come over? We need to talk... --

-- I'll be right there --

-- 👍🏼 --

-- I'm here --

My footsteps echo loudly and heavily as I ascend with a heavy cloud of doom surrounding me. This must be what my video game characters feel when they reach the final boss. Except, they probably have more confidence than I do at this moment. She's standing in the doorway, chewing a nail, when I reach the third floor. Her eyes meet mine and instantly fill with tears, and instinct takes over - I rush to her and pull her into me. Her body melts into mine with comfortable familiarity, but she quickly stiffens and pulls away, wiping at her red-rimmed eyes. She sits on the couch gingerly perched on the edge, as if she's ready to bolt. Her body language tells me to sit on the opposite end of the couch, as far away from her as possible. We sit there for a minute, my hands folded in my lap, her teeth biting away at another nail.

Finally, she sighs dramatically and blurts, "Oh my god, can you say something please?!"

I drop my head and massage my temples as I respond, "Rachel, you asked me to come here. You wanted to talk."

"Anna...I'm confused again. I don't know what I'm feeling, but it feels...," she struggles to find the word, "bad, icky, uncomfy, I don't know!"

"Wow, okay, so loving me feels icky?"

"NO! No, Rachel, that's not what I meant! I love you, I do, but something feels wrong, and I can't put my finger on it."

I whip my head up, eyes full of fury, and say, "Goddamnit, I'm so tired of this shit. How many times have we had this conversation? How many times am I going to let you say this to me, Anna? We just did this six months ago!"

Quiet tears start streaming down her face, and I instantly feel like utter shit, but I'm finally speaking my truth, and I'm so tired of letting her dance circles around my feelings. I'm tired of tiptoeing around her fragility when all I want to do is proclaim my love for her by shouting from the rooftop.

"I can't do this, it's not fair to me or you," she says quietly, and her body racks with sobs.

I have to fight the urge to go to her, to comfort her, because despite it all, I still love her and I still want to try. But she's right, it's not fair. I put my head in my hands as utter defeat washes over me, and my face reddens with embarrassment and the threat of tears. I spent the past six months trying to make this work with the same result. I feel like an absolute fool for allowing myself to go through this pain again.

I move to sit beside her, and take her hands as I say, "You're right, it's not fair. I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough. We're done, for good this time."

She throws her arms around me and mutters into my now tear-soaked shoulder, "I'm so sorry."

I hold her for a few moments longer, savoring the smell of her hair and the feelings of her wrapped in my arms. I release her, kiss her cheek, and stand.

"Goodbye, Anna. I hope you find what you're looking for someday. And I'm sorry it wasn't me."

I hear her crying as I shut the door, and I can’t stop the tears from streaming down my face, mixing with the rain. I reach my car just as thunder cracks overhead, as if the sky aches with me. Déjà vu washes over me as I weep, my heart breaking for the second time at the hands of the same person. The pain is familiar, yet somehow twice as strong, and a heavy sense of finality settles in. The worst part is, I saw it coming — I felt her pulling away again, her responses growing shorter, her touch turning colder. She was already slipping through my fingers, and I didn’t fight to hold on. Last time, I was hopeful. I fought for us with everything I had because the thought of losing her was unbearable. But this time, I’m consumed by hopelessness and guilt — because I gave up. I couldn’t fight anymore. Now, peace and shame exist in a strange duality, competing for space in my chest as the weight of this battle lifts from my shoulders. I know love shouldn’t feel like a war, yet the grief of losing it still cuts deep.

I gather myself from the sinking void of self-deprecation long enough to drive home, and I can feel what was left of my self-confidence washing away down the flooded streets. I hurry into my apartment and out of the rain, but I fall up the steps on the way and curse myself for my clumsiness. I immediately strip my clothes and climb into the shower. The hot water tingles my cold skin and stings the fresh scrape on my knee. The pain is both a physical reminder of and a distraction from my shattered heart. I sit hugging my knees tight and let the water crash around me, trying to drown out the raw pain, and wondering when I'll feel okay again.