Sneakers squeaked along the linoleum floors of their apartment block as Morgan rapidly approached the door. Her bag was slung lazily over her shoulder, last week’s clothes stuffed inside. She had hurried home that day, packed some outfits to see her through the remainder of the week and shut the door behind her. It still infuriated her, how suddenly she was being left out in the cold by Megan. It had been starting to look as though they were reaching an amicable mutual place with one another. Wordlessly passing each other had been replaced with simple conversations - how are you, how was work, goodnight. Morgan stopped having to press her ear to the bedroom door to learn if Megan was in their living room to avoid awkward encounters. The internal battle she would have with herself every time she opened her mouth to Megan, to refute her ‘I’m good’s or ‘never better’ (when she hasn’t been in 3 months, 4 hours, 20 minutes and clock’s still ticking). How difficult it proved to not add I love you and take back everything she had ever said when she broke up with her. She was bottling the pain to make peace. But for every step forward, there always were 2 steps back. Or in this case, the brunette had been knocked back 20 steps.
If Megan wanted to play a hot and cold act, Morgan wasn’t going to entertain it. Things were clearly not okay. They weren’t made to be just friends - they never had been. You can’t force a circular shape into a hole made for a square. The all or none phenomenon extended beyond nerves and muscle fibres. She emptied out her lungs as the key turned. Anxiety clung to her being, despite being almost certain that Megan wouldn’t be home--it was a weekday. If she were, she would be resting from a long night shift. Chances of seeing her were slim. Morgan figured she could drop her bag off, grab her hard drive (for work) and miscellaneous items, then head back to the lab til the sun sets over the horizon. Everything she needed was in plain site, not obstructed. The only sounds that resonated off the walls were the footsteps of her shoes. The marine biologist was prepared to head back out the door when she realised she forgot her keys on the coffee table. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath, turning on her heels to fetch them. Forest greens were concentrated on the lanyard adorned with keys that they didn’t notice the blonde had entered the room. Only when she had pocketed them, Finding Nemo lanyard hanging from her jeans, did Morgan’s eyes lock with ones that held oceans. Lips parted, wanting to say a sweet nothing. But they clamped shut. It was a fleeting moment of vulnerability. Standing up straighter, a stiffness overcame her. Her gaze hit the floor. “Don’t worry, I’m uh--I’m leaving now.” // @idpickycufirst