She woke up again this morning with the same thought she had the night before. “I gotta get out of here.” He was sleeping; outstretched legs tangled between the sheets as she looked at him one last time before dangling her right leg off the bed.
“I can do it. I can do it. I can do it.” She repeated in her head.
She knew if she woke him up it would start all over, so she tip toed out the bedroom and into the loft to collect her thoughts before she made her next move.
“Here I am,” she thought, “doing the same things I told myself I wouldn’t do.”
She was 42 and most people would describe her as beautiful, but she wasn’t convinced. She had spent the last five years working towards something that she thought would be an answer to everything. But it wasn’t.
She knew he wasn’t right for her, but apparently everyone else thought he was. To them he was Mr. Too Good to Be True. With his blonde hair, and big blue eyes he had a way of communicating to others without even talking. His theory on life was if you sit back and listen then people will notice you, not the other way around. He would get by only with the help of her, adding imaginary chain links to her heart every time he wanted to use her.
To her he was a shell. He was a shell that represented all that she despised. The only way she heard she was beautiful was included in the sentence “I would tell you that you are beautiful, but I don’t want it going to your head.” He would demand her to give up her dreams to move to an isolated place surrounded only by his lifestyle of killing games, and fishing poles. He was an outdoorsman, it was embedded in his mind that he would be the hunter, and her the gatherer.
She had enough. She had invested too much of herself in him, and she knew it too. She no longer woke up to write and watch the sunrise, she hardly ever thought for herself anymore, and worst of all the ones who knew her the most felt as if she was too far gone to get out.
“Today is the day,” she told herself, “today I’m taking myself back.”
She turned and looked in the mirror hanging next to her and for some reason at that one exact moment she noticed something she never saw before. Her eyes. The blue surrounding her iris, he told her before, was the sign that they were meant to be, and somehow it had been erased. The blue that had been there before was replaced. A deep green, she noticed, deeper than anything she had ever seen before. She had found it. She had found the one thing she knew belonged to only her, herself. There was no sign, it wasn’t fate, and there was no destiny that said she belonged to him. She knew what she had to do.
She threw on her tan Uggs, picked up her car keys, and before she left, she whispered to the only Angel she had up there, “thank you for giving me the strength to do this” and she walked out the door.