Miss Mary Ann kept her man in porcupine gloves

I wrote a short story for a project but it didn't get picked. Most likely because when I planned to do my final revision I was in bed with the flu and had to send it in as it was to meet the deadline. I was gutted but it had pushed me to write again after a long time so not all bad I guess. This is only the first part.

Marianne sat across from me cupping her mug of cold coffee with both hands, her eyes seeking solace in the murky liquid. Little lines scored her usually smooth forehead as she planned her next sentence carefully. I knew what was coming but I let her find the perfect words. Marianne was like that. She wanted something that just didn’t exist in real life. She longed for deeper kind of life where every word and action was dripping with hidden meaning, a movie kind of life and I faded into the background with every new performance.

Suddenly I didn't want to humour her anymore. I was tired of agonising silences while she wrote the script for our relationship. I wanted away from this flat that had been so quintessentially ours, Marianne’s and Jack’s. I wanted far away from this too-small kitchen in which we had disregarded all design sense and painted the walls bright red. Our friends had laughed at us and I had to admit it was garish most of the time, but there was a certain time of day when the sun would hit the blinds just right and bathe my girl in an ethereal glow; her long hair glistening in copper waves. She was magical. My gaze settled on the handprints on one of the cupboard doors. She had slipped and thrown out a red hand, ruining the new wood. My own print had been added to banish the disappointment, to make it special. Make it ours. I just wanted to get away. If I managed to avoid the theatrical speech I knew I could do it. I stood up slowly but my stool still scraped harshly along the tiles. Marianne winced slightly but did not look at me. I kissed those little thought lines and stroked her hair.

“Goodbye, Marianne.” She leaned her head against me for a moment and murmured my name. I walked away before she could say anything more.

My bag was packed and ready at the door. It had been waiting for days now for me to pick it up and carry it out of our life. I forced myself not to hesitate, not to wait for her warm arms around me giving me that final kiss that always broke my resolve and pulled me back in. I opened the door and walked away from the tears that had always held me. I heard her shout something after me but I blocked it out. The door shut behind me with a harsh finality. It was only when I was safe on my brother's couch that I allowed myself to hear her.

"But I love you!"

It was her last weapon against me, her love. It strangled me in its warm embrace and I always helped her wind it around my neck like a dutiful pet. I didn't know if by tomorrow I'd be back, tail between my legs, excuses flowing from my traitorous lips. Tonight I severed my last connection to her and hid my phone at the bottom of my bag. She would move on, come to hate me and I would handle that. And amongst all the misery and pain there was a glimmer of hope. That I'd done the right thing for once. Pulling the blanket tighter around my neck I ended the day.