Title: The Burden We Bear
Theme(s): #9 Hide-and-seek (~shattered heart)
Word Count: 615
Written For: 30_angsts
“Bianca, open the door or I’m coming in,” Wyatt demanded irascibly. Silence. He stared at the badly patched up mint green door of Bianca’s apartment, his knuckles still resting on the grain of its wooden surface.
Bianca sat curled up against the foot of the couch on the worn-down carpet. She lifted her eyes towards the door at the sound of his voice emanating from the other side. She didn’t want him to come in; she didn’t want to see him ever again. Both options he’d provided meant that she’d have to come face to face with him. But it would hurt too much for that to happen, it would remind her of what he’d done. Picking up her shoes from beneath the coffee table she hurled them at the back of the door, one by one. If that wasn’t a sign of refusal, she didn’t know what else was.
But Wyatt was a stubborn fool and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Keeping to his suggestion he orbed himself into her apartment. She turned her head away from him, her hair falling to cover her face.
“Pretending I’m not here isn’t going to make me disappear,” he said. She glanced back to him and sniffled, quickly squeezing her eyes closed and lowering her head. “Can’t we have a civil discussion about this?”
“There’s nothing fucking civil about it.”
“Bianca, look at me,” he ordered. “Don’t be so insolent as to ignore me.”
She looked up to him. She was right. The first sight of him brought everything back. It didn’t matter what he was wearing, or how tidy his hair was. His appearance didn’t matter at all. It was the entire sight of him, the being of Wyatt, the person she had loved with all her heart who had done the unthinkable and broken her trust, leaving her with nothing but a deflated sense of value and a shattered heart. She never thought emotional pain could physically hurt so much, but it did. It struck her right down to the core. She lifted her hands to her head, her fingers running over her temples and clutching her hair.
“Stop torturing me, Wyatt,” she pleaded. “Just go the fuck away and leave me alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he insisted. “I want to talk to you.”
“No. I don’t want to hear it. Just go away,” she said.
She tried to hold back, but it didn’t work. She couldn’t suppress it any longer. The constant badgering he offered, each second he made his presence known, added to the anguish she already felt. Fresh tears came to the surface, trailing down her cheeks as she sobbed audibly.
“Don’t cry,” he said, the words lacking any kind of sympathetic sentiment in the tone. “Look, I messed up. I’m sorry.”
“God, you can’t even say it like you mean it,” she said, letting go of her hair, her head flying up wrathfully to glare at him.
She pushed herself up from the ground, storming into her bedroom and slamming the door. Turning back to face it, she opened it again and looked out to him.
“You don’t belong here anymore,” she said sternly. “Leave. Or I’m going to get someone who’ll make you. And don’t ever come here again. I don’t want to put up with any more of your shit. You’ve already hurt me enough.”
Closing the door she crawled onto her bed, drawing a pillow into her arms and burying her face. She could only hope that if he didn’t see or hear her cry, then maybe he would be convinced enough she cared as little about him as he seemed to care about her.