The Broken Pieces of Yesterday

It was the first calm day in weeks and he couldn't resist taking his book down to the dock to read. It wasn't warm enough for swimming and the slight wind was cool enough that he was grateful for his windbreaker.

The calm was disrupted by a footfall on the dock which sent the dock bobbing on the water.

He looked up and sighed. "What are you doing here?" he asked, not looking at her but returning to his book.

"I wanted to talk."

He didn't respond, but continued to look at his book but he wasn't reading it anymore.

She sat down and stuck her bare feet into the water, seemingly oblivious to the cold.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

"I wanted to talk," she repeated. Not looking around.

"What's the point?" he asked, closing his book and getting to his feet. "The wound was healing! You coming here today is just ripping the scab off. Why do you insist on picking at it? This will only make it bleed more."

"I like blood," she said quietly. "It's clean."

He stared at her. "Clean?"

She shrugged. "Some things need to bleed."

"Most things need to heal." He didn't really want to listen to this anymore. He took one step toward the shore then called over his shoulder. "Stop picking at it and it will."

"Are you closing the door on me?" she asked, pulling her feet out of the cold.

"No, you closed the door on me," he said. "Let's not pretend it was any different." He gave her one last look and strode from the dock, but she followed.

"Well, you know what they say about closing doors and opening windows," she said, catching up to him and matching his stride.

He kept walking. "That windows aren't nearly as helpful as doors when it comes to moving forward?"

She laughed. "Maybe the smaller gap is so that you'll try harder!"

But he was not amused. He stopped and turned back to her.

"Are you saying you want me to try harder?" he asked. She saw the pain behind the question and hesitated.

"No," she said slowly. "I didn't mean that."

"Look, I'm not trying to force anything," he said. "I won't close you out or close any doors, but I'm not gonna stand waiting and weeping either."

"Weeping?" she asked. A shadow crossed her face. "I'm sorry," she said softly as she stared at the ground.

But he wasn't interested in an apology. "Why are you following me? Are you unhappy?"

She stopped, a little surprised. "I'm not unhappy," she said. "Do I have to be unhappy to talk to you?"

"Yes!" he said angrily. "I don't understand you! You made your decision. You chose him. What are you doing here now?"

"I miss you," she said in a small voice.

"You aren't allowed to miss me if you're with him. It has to be a choice. You can't have it both ways."

She nodded, biting her lip. "I'm sorry you think that," she said. And she turned to go.

"I don't understand you, Meg!"

"Why can't I be with him and still be friends with you?" 

"Because that's bloody weird! I'm sorry, but you just can't keep things the way they were. It doesn't work. When you walked away, that was the end. You can change your mind, but you can't keep us both in your life. It's that simple."

"I wish it were," she said. "But I will go. And I won't bother you anymore."

He watched her. "But do you understand?" he asked.

"I think so."

"I'm sorry. I never wanted to shut you out, but you see why it has to be this way, don't you?"

She bit her lip. "I wish I did."

"I don't understand you," he said again.

"That's part of it, isn't it?" she said sadly. "It turns out we were never on the same page."

"Then why do you insist on keeping me in your life?" he asked wildly.

"Because you had something that I wanted," she admitted.

"Are you talking about that scotch?"

"No," she wanted to laugh, but her heart was hurting too much. "It wasn't anything like that. You're just a person I wanted to be around. You meant something to me."

He shook his head. "Stop picking at the scab, Megan."

"I like blood," she repeated.