by Krymzen Hall

Created on: August 07, 2009   Last Updated: March 02, 2011

I hope he will say something. Anything. 

He doesn't. He looks at me and then looks around, his eyes coming back to me as if pause will give way to a change in my heart. He's calm, so maybe I had it right, asking him to meet me at a restaurant so I could break up with him in the safety of an audience. A private place would have given him the opportunity to throw a fit or perhaps our photo that still sits in a crystal frame on a coffee table in my living room.

Now, as he sits in front of me, holding his anger inside, I'm not so sure. Is silence better than broken glass?

Is he even angry?

Maybe he's relieved. I've just let him off the hook. He doesn't have to put up with my intense mood swings, messy habits, and my selfish need to have the last word. He's free to live his own life, far removed from the discomfort of a nagging girlfriend.

But, if I'm the so-called leaver, why am I the one about to cry?

I can't take the silence any longer. I promised myself I wouldn't use clichs. But...

"Look, it's not you. It's me."

I'm starting to see a hint of disdain. If he wasn't mad before, he sure as hell is now.

He swallows spit then finally speaks. "Why do I get the feeling it's neither of us?"

I begin to shake. I hoped this would have been a clean break, with no residual interrogation. After all, men get over it and move on quicker than women do. Right?

Should I lie? Tell him that I haven't been sleeping with somebody new? Should I spare his feelings by not telling him that I'm not in love with him despite the long hours he works to give me nice things?

How does a woman tell a man that his time is more valuable than silver and gold?

"Please don't do this," I beg.

"Do what? Find out the truth?"

"The truth is that it's been over for a while. We've just been going through the motions."

His eyes begin to blink a little quicker. They well. If I didn't know better, I would think this six-foot- two-man was about to fall apart.

"Who is he?" he asks.

I pause, then I'm saved by the waitress who approaches the table and asks us if we would like dessert. Yes, I have just waited until we finished eating to break the news. Shoot, I didn't know how to tell him.

"We're fine," he says. The waitress leaves the table.

I start to cry. Even though I've done wrong, I didn't mean to lose control when I cheated. But now I know: I couldn't lose something I never had.

"You don't know him," I say.

He bites his lip then shakes his head. I expect to be chastised, ridiculed, and left to wallow in my own pool of regret and self-loathing.

But instead, he says, "If it's not me, then somebody else must be worthy of you."

Is he serious right now? All my dirt, and he thinks I'm still worthy? Dang. Am I making a mistake by breaking up with him?

Then he does the unexpected. He flags down the server, pays for my dinner, and kisses me on the cheek.

"I love you, more than anything," he says. "Please be happy."

A couple of minutes later, after digesting my meal and his reaction, I leave the restaurant. I feel relief. The truth is out and I can move on. Maybe we will even be friends one day.

I hear footsteps behind me as I walk to my car. Then I hear a gun click into position. My decisions have just caught up with me.

"Did you think bringing me to a restaurant would stop my wrath?" he asks.

I turn around. The hurt seeps from every pore in his body.

"Please don't kill me. You said you would always love me. So prove it. Just this one time."

"I'm about to."

The bullet warms my chest as I fall. My eyes get harder to stay open. I can faintly see the crowd as he falls beside me.

Ironically, our eyes close in unison, as if we were meant to be.

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