Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

He doesn’t want to go, either. It’s just the way it is. Making
him feel guilty won’t help either of us.
Standing at the edge of the bed, he pulls me to him. I wrap
my arms around his waist and rest my head on his hard
stomach as he caresses my hair.
“When do your classes start up again?”
“Next week.”
It’s a pity the school’s holiday break isn’t shorter, because
without work to go back to, I’m not sure what I’ll be doing
with all my extra time now that he’ll be gone.
He cups my face in his hands and turns it up so I’m
looking at him. His eyes are shadowed. His voice comes very
soft. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Giving me something to live for.”
He leans over and kisses me softly on the lips. Without
another word, he turns and walks out.
I sit on the bed where he left me, listening to his footsteps
recede through the house. The front door opens and closes,
and he’s gone.
Knowing a future of little heartbreaks like this one awaits
me, I struggle not to let the tears fall. Then I take a deep breath
and throw the covers off, stand and straighten my shoulders,
and head to the shower to start my day.
There’s no use wallowing in misery. It serves no purpose
and changes nothing in the end.
If anyone knows that well, it’s me.
I do all the laundry. I clean the house from top to bottom. I
take a brisk walk around the block. By the time five o’clock
rolls around, I’m feeling better, certain it won’t be long before