The day before tomorrow

“I don’t love you.” It hurt my chest, trying to control the emotion in my voice. I can’t give in this time. Pushing my lips together to stop them from trembling, I didn’t say anything else and waited for him to turn around. Warren was slicing bell peppers on the chopping board in my kitchen. He’d just put the chicken in the frying pan and it had begun to sizzle quietly. He didn’t even look up.

“What are you talking about?”

I took a moment to fight the lump in my throat. “I’m done. I’d like you to leave now.”

He looked up this time, holding the knife steady against the skin of the vegetable. “Can we at least have dinner first?”

“No.” I said quickly. I knew what would play out over the table if we did.

He narrowed his eyes, staring hard for a second before continuing to cut. “I think you are being ridiculous. Let's talk about this. Like adults.” There was a harshness in his tone when he said adults.

I could feel myself shaking in my core. The walls of my apartment were closing in on me with him here. He had been here all summer and the place had never felt so small. My chest inhaled and exhaled rapidly as I tried to control my emotions.

“No!” I repeated louder.

He dropped the knife. It clanged against the wooden chopping board. He stalked around the island. His footsteps were so gentle. He never shifted his eyes from me as he came to stand in front of me. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call your mum?” It was a whisper but like sandpaper to hear.

“I’m fine. I want you to leave. Go to your parents, friends, a hotel… I don’t care. I just want you out of my home right now.”

“Our home. We live here together. We love each other. Let’s talk about it.”

“NO!” I stormed to the front door and opened it. Point to the empty hallway, I shouted, “get out. Don’t come back.”

He stepped out of the door more peacefully than I expected. When he turned to face the inside again, I pulled the door closed slightly so it was between me and him.

On his lips the frown he was wearing was not upset or despair but disgusted, twisted up like I had put mushrooms in his food or left mud on the floor when it had rained outside.

“When you have finished being crazy, call me and maybe I will want to sort this mess out. I can’t believe you are doing this to me. After everything, Oliviana.”

I almost gagged at the use of my full name. He knows I hate it. “Olive,” I corrected, clenching my teeth, “Warren, I am never going to want you back. I’m done and I mean it.” Before he could speak again, I slammed the door. Sinking with my back against it, I managed to catch my breath again.

The sizzling of the pan caught my attention and I quickly went to tend to it. I turned the chicken. I continued to slice the peppers he had started, mixing my work with his to hide he was ever there at all. I diced the half an onion into fine, chopped small squares and tossed them in the pan with the chicken to caramelise. The pasta on the other hob was beginning to bubble so I stirred it with a fork. It was almost soft enough to drain. I tried a peice, blowing it before I delicately placed it in my mouth. I shifted the onions around the pan making sure they don’t burn, then added the strips of red and green peppers to soften.

While I waited, I lent back on the island with the stove in front of me. I began to notice the silence, the eerie stillness which had now settled on my apartment and the thickness of the air around me. It was strangely comforting.

I felt nothing significant that I could identify. An overall numbness had settled in my chest as I continued to tend to my dinner. When I opened the cupboard beside the oven, I pulled out two plates out of habit but quickly placed one back. The first hit of loneliness hit. Looking back on the argument, my thoughts raced. Had I been too harsh? Where is he going to go? It’s 11pm, is he going to find somewhere to stay? What if he gets hurt and I’m responsible for him being out there.

Before I could argue with myself, I pulled my phone out. My finger hovered over the call button but diverted to instagram to watch the stories as if to pretend I didn’t just do that. I mindlessly flicked through. Most were people on night’s out as it was the last Saturday night before lectures started again.

I had already packed my bag with my notebook, laptop, pens, highlighters, pencils and snack box. It sat by the door. I could see it from where I was standing while plating my dinner. Tomorrow is coming.

Sighing, I spooned a bed of pasta onto my plate, placed the chicken on top with the veg sprinkled throughout. I was too lazy to make sauce so I just grabbed a handful of grated cheese and plopped it on the top.

This was my last year here. I could do it.

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This is a new series I am starting that touches on issues that effect everyone to bring them to light and provide validation for those who relate.

Lara X

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