27's (for my cousin)

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she moved into the bedroom. For over a year, this room had been sacred. It had been her haven, where regardless the fights or the miscommunication, she could seek refuge; in the blankets, in the bed, in his arms. He was nonchalantly rummaging through a drawer, and in that one moment she could not remember what objects that drawer held. She felt she was made of stone as her throat formed the words.
"We really need to talk."
He turned to face her, mechanically, solemnly. "I need to take a shower."
The words hit her like blows, each one seeming more uncaring and indignant than the last. She tried again.
"We really. Need to talk." Recognition crossed his face, the only saving grace to their life at the moment.
"Can I just get in the shower? I'll feel better when you do this if I can just be in the shower."
Had the moment not been so completely life defining, had she not felt the need to rip out her heart and show him what he had done to it, she may have laughed. Instead she just agreed. They moved into the bathroom.
He undressed. He climbed into the shower, turned on the water.
It was intimate and yet cold. She could hear the water streaming through his hair and on his body. She sank and sat on the toilet. She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes.
"I can't do this anymore." The words seemed to belong to someone else. Someone else who could muster the kind of courage it took to say the five words that would change her very being.
Her body froze, and yet time did not. She half expected her very world to crumble at its corners as she had made this proclamation, and instead, the water continued to fall and she continued to breathe. It was both hopeful and heartbreaking.
He murmured an agreement. She was shaking. It was slight, and it was subtle, but it was there.
Unsure of what to do, uncertain of how to start the new life she had just entered, she pulled off a layer of clothing and crawled into bed. Their bed. He climbed in after her, and his skin gave off the steam her emotions could not. He fell asleep, and it was too quickly. As she listened to him slumber she became more hurt, and slightly irritated.
As his breaths turned into snores, she threw the sheets off and listened to her mind, to her feelings, to her heart. She edged away, moved to a spot in the bed where she felt for one last time she could be untouchable.

She awoke in the morning, and as she looked at him, she knew it was over. As he continued to sleep she carried herself out of bed. She packed a box. One, lonely box, to serve as a reminder for what she was doing. She carried it to her car. She slid into the drivers seat, and as though it was just a regular day she buckled up and put the car into reverse. She was strong. Stronger than she would ever realize.

She turned on her music and with a steady voice she started to sing. She lit a cigarette and inhaled. It was warm and comforting, in ways the man she had just left never could be. It wasn't until she looked in her rear view mirror that she saw the tears rolling their way down her face. She left them there, unwilling to wipe them away for anyone, much less the boy she had left behind who would never get to see them. These were for her. And as she drove, the tears lightened the load. As she drove, she started a new life.