She picks up the bag and tiptoes towards the door. The sun has just begun to rise in the sky, and shines through the curtains behind her. She avoids looking at him, because it would give her all too many reasons to stay.
Her set of keys jingle softly in her hand, and he stirs awake.
"Amy?"
She turns, her face flushed.
"You're having a dream, sweetheart. Go back to sleep."
He ignores her and sits up in bed, gazing at her sleepily.
"Where are you going, honey?"
I'm leaving.
She looks down at the trackpants and tee she is wearing, and mumbles, "Jogging."
He blinks, looking confused, and glances out the window for a second, then back at her. "It's so early, and you hate to exercise."
Damn it.
At this point she realises her lip smarts where she'd been biting it. A painful lump rises in her throat as she fights to say what she's been thinking, for too long.
I'm done with being invisible. I'm done trying to make you see me, the way I see you. I'm done loving you so much more than you love me.
He tilts his head thoughtfully, still seemingly oblivious to the internal battles going on between her head and heart, then opens his arms and whispers, "Come back to bed."
Almost mechanically, she crosses the room and climbs in beside him as he lifts the covers for her. She rests her head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall, and she puts her hand on his heart as he places his hand over hers. She wonders if his heart beats for her, or if it ever had. A tear rolls over the bridge of her nose into the other eye, and then explodes onto his chest into a puddle of wetness that feels slick against her cheekbones.
He lifts his head and looks at her, concern mounting in his face.
"Honey, what's wrong?"
Suddenly the dam breaks and he holds her close in confusion as the tears fall, fat drops of frustration and anger and misery and helplessness.
Everything's wrong, baby. But yet, everything just feels so right.
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