Catharsis: The Literary & Art Magazine

   A voice called my name. A familiar voice coming from a familiar face.
   Quickly I pushed my way in between the crowd of people hoping to reach the exit. My head focused towards the direction I was headed, this way I’d blend in and hopefully disappear from his sight.
Droplets of sweat began to form on my forehead. The room suddenly turned hot and my vision became slightly blurred. I need fresh air.
   “Anne!” it continues to yell.
   Finally I’m outside and I can breathe yet, I can still hear his footsteps coming my way. As if I were in kindergarten just learning this rule I remind myself to look both ways before I cross. The light is red, which is my signal to run for it.
   Across the street I walk into Shanely Park and sit on one of the benches near the trees. I sit away from the playground, away from the people, away from the kids. Away from everything just enough that it’s silent.
   Day after day I would sit and think of what I would say if I ever saw him again. Day after day I would just sit and think. Those days turned into months and then I finally started feeling like myself again. However, there’s a difference between getting over it, and getting through it.
   “Anne,” it was almost a whisper this time, “It’s me.” Paralyzed I didn’t say a word. Slowly he kept walking towards the bench and took the seat beside me.
   “What do you want?” I managed to spit out.
   “It’s been a while, I just wanted to see how you were.”
   Suddenly a sudden strength entered my body, “You wanted to see how I was? Why didn’t you see how I was four months ago when you disappeared, four months ago when you just walked out of my life and didn’t bother to step right back in?”
   I didn’t want to sit here and feel manipulated and weak. More than ready to go I got up and started to walk away. Instantly at my movement he grabbed my arm, a natural instinct. At his touch my body seemed to ease down and the heat from the arousing pain swiftly blew away with the wind. His hand crept up my arm to the side of my cheek and he turned my face to face his. Chills ran through my body, down my back. Pulling me in for a hug the weight on my shoulders disappeared. In one second, one hug, all my worries, my pain was gone.
   Pulling away he eyes finally met mine. It there’s a word to describe them it would be intense. His hands gently laid over mine, his mouth opened, ready to speak. His parted lips seemed so perfect, his unshaven face rough; the nice kind of rough. “I’m sorry.”
   It was like he was inside of me, searching for me, for my understanding.
   “Do you remember we used to come here?”
   At the question I flinched along with my guard preparing to fight my heart. I guess he noticed because he stopped.
   “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to do what I did. I didn’t know..”
   In mid sentence my tear ducts were all set to overflow so I lift his hands from mine and prepare myself to go. Shocked he sat up, “Where are you going?”
   His confusion amused me yet filled me with an overwhelming amount of pain all at the same time. Looking back, right into his eyes. His cold, hard, black eyes that are trying to be hidden with comfort I spoke. “I rather walk away than be walked upon.” There was no change in them. There was no sign of hurt, no sign of pain, no sign of life. With that, I walked away and let go.