“See how pretty this bottle is?” she said holding a beer bottle.
She then slams it on the kitchen floor.
Glass shards scatter. She walks to the dining room and sits down.
“That bottle will never be as it was, no matter what you do. It will cut you.”
“This hot one moment, cold the next bull shit you put me through,” I ask “It’s going to be an on going thing isn’t it?”
She nods. “I will never be who I was. I’m as broken into little bits as that bottle. I’m beautiful but I will cut you, again and again.” She sits with her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around.
“Fuck,” I lay on the floor. Alternating my eyes between her and the glass. “I will want to love and hold you. Your coldness and emotional withdraws will eat me alive. I can’t… I won’t put myself through that.”
Silence consumes the room for a while.
“What does this mean for us?” I ask.
“It means you’re free,” She replies.
“I always was. But, I’m fucking here tonight.”
“Can I kiss you?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies.