“Emma, listen to me!” he shouted grabbing her wrists and trying to pull her to him.
“No, let go of me,” she struggled to push him away.
“Why don’t you just talk to me? Please,” he pleaded.
“Like you did?” she shouted back, no longer holding back her tears, but crying openly. It turned the dark brown of her eyes a softer, milky color, he noticed. But it was only for a moment before she cried, “You said you didn’t love me!”
He tensed at her words, releasing her hands. He thought about the look on her face at the station when he said it. But she didn’t know why. Before he could explain himself and beg her to forget, she cut him off.
“Do you remember the night you threw up in my leather hand bag?” her voice shook as she cried. He nodded. He remembered. He also remembered how fucked up he was and how she cleaned him up and put him to bed. They spent the entire next day watching movies on his couch.
“You told me that you loved me,” she continued. Her arms were wrapped around herself and she wasn’t looking at him. “You told me we were soulmates.”
She paused, sniffling and taking a moment to wipe her eyes. He hated himself for being the one to make her cry like that, to make her voice tremble the way it did.
“You were so drunk, but you said it. You told me you’d forget the next morning, and that I should tell you about it some day.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why now?”
“Because I want you to know I believed it too,” Emma answered finally looking up at him, mascara smeared and eyes wet. He felt his chest tighten at her words. She turned to open the door, keys in hand.
“Wait, Emma,” he stopped her. “I don’t want to think that this is it.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and then was out the door without a word.