You asked me if I was done.

I couldn’t bring myself to give you the honest answer, so I said I didn’t know. You uttered a confused scoff.

I was a sitting pathetic duck parked with tinted-less windows. The people outside walking around and past my vehicle would casually glance. Embarrassment flushed my face as the conversation between us was blasting through the speakers of my car. Could the outside world hear?

I disconnected the Bluetooth and held the phone tight to my ear. As I touched my phone I closed my eyes, and heard your breathing sounds on the other side of the line. In my head I saw your face. I saw the hope of our future fizzle out in your beautifully tortured brown eyes. But then I opened my eyes and felt salty streams on the outline of my lips. Fuck.

You told me you couldn’t put yourself through it again; I said I wouldn’t want you too. I couldn’t say I was sorry because the words would’ve floated weightless in the air. The silence between us was thick with frustration, bewilderment, and the pain of knowing I’ve stabbed us both in the back.

“So, what now?” I asked stupidly. I already knew the answer and I didn’t know why I thought it would be different.

“I can’t do this again. I can’t -“ Your voice breaks.

“I know.” A deep sigh of relief escaped me. I knew I wasn’t done but I also knew that I did not deserve you. You did not deserve anymore pain and trauma. I looked outside the car window as somehow the sun grew brighter.

“Goodbye Michael.”

Confessions of a Compulsive Liar.