By the time she got in there was nothing much left. Cab Calloway was spinning on repeat and it was the first thing she did; press OFF. Then she turned to consider the empty lounge room, the tired wallpaper, the stale white floor. She dumped her bags and her disappointment with it and rolled her eyes. Not again.
Splashing her face over the basin in the toilet, she looked at her face, pale and pinched with the sting of the frozen water. But it felt good. It slapped some sense into her. There had to be a note.
Jimmy and her had been together for four years, and for the better part of that time it had been good. Not perfect, not always warm, but they understood one another and when push came to shove and hell hit they were there for one another, holding one another up. Not that anything bad had taken place, really. It had been a good ride. They had a unit, a cat, shared ownership and accounts and lots of good memories. Then he woke up one Saturday, walked onto the balcony and said he had to go. Rosanna stirred in her sheets and stared, squinted, at the morning and the silhouette of the man in it, wiry and sore. "What?" Was all she could muster at the time. Go' Where" What' Wait. What"
It wasn't like a nightmare. It wasn't even shock. It just was. And it hurt.
"Am I coming?"
He turned around that morning and shook his head. "We'll talk about it later." Then Jimmy showered, pulled on his leather jacket and headed out. He sent her an email that afternoon. Not a phone call. Not an SMS. An email. "I'll be home at 6pm. Chat then." The curtness, the weird feeling in her stomach, it made her sick. She resorted to the bed the rest of the day. Questions circled overhead. Around and around. Where would he be going" Was this a surprise" Was he going to propose? But Rosanna knew he wasn't. That where he was going didn't include her. It was a cold admission that lent nothing to her; there was no buying him out of it. Her heart squirmed in her chest. She'd never felt that before.
So 6pm rolled by and he sat her down, told her it wasn't working anymore. She listened steadfastly, hands gripped around one another in her lap, wet eyed and tight lipped.
Trudging into the bedroom now, she hesitantly pushed past the door, still ajar, and looked at the empty bed, more empty than it had ever been. No Jimmy. It was still unmade. She crossed over to it and grabbed up his pillow, inhaling his scent out of it like an elixir. And again. Then tossed it back and broke down into a sob, glad he wasn't there to see it.
Splashing her face over the basin in the toilet, she looked at her face, pale and pinched with the sting of the frozen water. But it felt good. It slapped some sense into her. There had to be a note.
Jimmy and her had been together for four years, and for the better part of that time it had been good. Not perfect, not always warm, but they understood one another and when push came to shove and hell hit they were there for one another, holding one another up. Not that anything bad had taken place, really. It had been a good ride. They had a unit, a cat, shared ownership and accounts and lots of good memories. Then he woke up one Saturday, walked onto the balcony and said he had to go. Rosanna stirred in her sheets and stared, squinted, at the morning and the silhouette of the man in it, wiry and sore. "What?" Was all she could muster at the time. Go' Where" What' Wait. What"
It wasn't like a nightmare. It wasn't even shock. It just was. And it hurt.
"Am I coming?"
He turned around that morning and shook his head. "We'll talk about it later." Then Jimmy showered, pulled on his leather jacket and headed out. He sent her an email that afternoon. Not a phone call. Not an SMS. An email. "I'll be home at 6pm. Chat then." The curtness, the weird feeling in her stomach, it made her sick. She resorted to the bed the rest of the day. Questions circled overhead. Around and around. Where would he be going" Was this a surprise" Was he going to propose? But Rosanna knew he wasn't. That where he was going didn't include her. It was a cold admission that lent nothing to her; there was no buying him out of it. Her heart squirmed in her chest. She'd never felt that before.
So 6pm rolled by and he sat her down, told her it wasn't working anymore. She listened steadfastly, hands gripped around one another in her lap, wet eyed and tight lipped.
Trudging into the bedroom now, she hesitantly pushed past the door, still ajar, and looked at the empty bed, more empty than it had ever been. No Jimmy. It was still unmade. She crossed over to it and grabbed up his pillow, inhaling his scent out of it like an elixir. And again. Then tossed it back and broke down into a sob, glad he wasn't there to see it.