“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, looking out his window, like he wished he was out there, already done with this, done with me.
“Do what?” I whispered, drawing it out.
He glanced back towards me. I lowered my eyes so he wouldn’t see the knowledge there. But he knew me well enough by then; he waited me out, waited for me to lift my eyes. Eventually I did.
“I can’t pretend I love you anymore.”
The words hung in the air as he waited for me to acknowledge them.
I didn’t know it would be so hard hearing it spoken out loud. I mean he’d been saying it for weeks, but not out loud.
I nodded again and looked out my own window. His passenger door opened and then closed as he went out to where he’d rather be.