Salt on Open Wounds | Closed
Arthur listened in silence as the other spoke of his parents, barely able to recall their faces. He’d seen Antonio’s father more than his mother… Both were friendly enough, and his mother was a warm woman. Very different in how they ran a family in comparison to his own parents, though they hadn’t done a poor job.
The Englishman felt the tension in the atmosphere growing. With Antonio’s back to him, he studied the tautness of his shoulders and how he moved, not oblivious to his obvious discontent.
He ignored the first two questions, choosing to dig his hands into his pockets and narrow his eyes. For a moment, he fought to control a sudden spike of irritation, biting his tongue and counting to ten. Finally he spoke up, a sigh escaping his lips. “Does avoiding me really make your life easier?” he asked quietly, thoughtful. “Is it enough to be able to forget everything?”
Always to the point wasn't he? Ugly, discarded feelings were beginning to resurface and Antonio's flight instincts were oddly at bay. Clenching his fist, he looks over, past the garden, as if looking back into his own pathetic past.
"I would rather forget everything. If only things were as easy as that--I'd rather lose that chunk of my life than have to hate looking at myself in the mirror every goddamn day." He quickly gathers his things, hands trembling in anger and regret. No more talking Tono, stop before it's too late. "I breathed so much easier before coming here and now I can't stand to look at myself--" He swallows his words before he can go any further, putting his things into his bag and rising to his feet.
The blood boiling made him ignore the wintertime freeze. He couldn't face the other anymore. He was going to go.
"I'm going."
