Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

seat next to me on the plastic chair. The balcony is tiny and just barely fits us, but it has a lovely view of the city streets. This is what we’re paying an arm and a leg for. Some days, like today, it’s worth it.

Derek looks at me needily. “Am I losing you?” he asks again.

This time I look at him, feeling my chest sink at the sadness in his eyes.

“I’m not sure you had me,” I admit, feeling a tremble in my voice. “I think I came back too soon, Derek. My head’s not in a good place.”

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, Derek –”

“I’ll stop drinking.”

“But you won’t.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“I’m going to prove you wrong.”

I don’t reply. I’m tired of this conversation. We’ve had it too many times now.

“I’m sorry,” he says in that way that usually gets through to me. “I’m so sorry.”

But this time I don’t feel it cutting through the wall I’ve erected.

“Derek,” I finally say, focusing my gaze on him, “I think…”

“Think what?”

I need to remind him of the conversation we had last night. I need to let him know nothing has changed. I think…

I think this needs to end. Now.

Say it, Ivy. Say it.

I swallow hard. “This isn’t working.”

He just looks at me for so long, not even blinking. My words don’t sink into him. I can see the flat-out denial in his eyes.

“Derek,” I continue slowly, “we need to consider…going our separate ways forever.”

“No,” he retorts, looking panicked. “No, Ivy. I lost you when you went to your mother’s. I won’t lose you again…”

And that’s how the day begins. With him rattling on about how much I mean to him. He doesn’t let up either. I carry the coffee back into the apartment and he follows, and he won’t leave it alone.

“This isn’t healthy for us, Derek,” I try telling him. “It’s been like this for too long now, we don’t even know what normal feels like anymore.”

“It will get better, Ivy. It will.”

“I don’t want this anymore, Derek. You’re not listening. This needs to end.”

“No, Ivy.”

“Please, listen to me. We have to move on. We have to heal apart.”

“No.”

“Derek, we’re done. We’ve been done a lot longer than you realize. You’re right, I came back and it’s been the elephant in the room –”

“You came back to give us another try.”

“No, Derek, that isn’t why I came back. We continued like nothing happened, like this separation was going to fizzle out and things were going to be okay again, but everything changed. I’ve been in denial. Until now. I’m ready to admit it out loud.”

He’s not listening.

“I’ll let you have the apartment,” I try telling him. “I’ll even pay until you find someone to rent with, or someone who’ll take over the lease –”

“No, fuck no. You’re not going anywhere, Ivy. I won’t let you. You’re mine. I’m yours. We made an oath when we got married we would see this to the end –”

“We were eighteen when we got married, we didn’t know anything!”

“People get married young all the time and make it.”

“Not us.”

“No, you don’t mean it. You’re being impulsive.”

I go to my underwear drawer and open it. I fish around for the divorce application I’ve hidden in there for months now. I pull it out and hand it to him. He takes it, brows coming together in confusion.

“I’m ready,” I tell him. “I’ve been ready for a long time now, Derek.”

He stares at the papers and begins to read. But just as quickly, he lets them go. They flutter to the ground and he’s shaking his head.

“Stop this, Ivy,” he tells me. “Stop.”

My shoulders slump. I feel defeated already. Like I’m boxed in and there’s no way out, no way of making him understand this is over.

He spends the whole day at my side, pleading, telling me I’m wrong. When I don’t change my tune, he gets loud. I want to run but I have nowhere to go. Every room I disappear in, he follows. When I’m in the bathroom, he’s slamming it, begging me to open up.

This is how it always is.

He will push and push and push until I give up. Until I tell him what he wants to hear.

But I don’t do it this time. I stand my ground. Through shaky breaths, I tell him through the door we’re over, that our separation never ended. I don’t even remember the last time we felt like a couple. He’s holding onto the old us, and he needs to confront what we’ve become. I try explaining that to him, but he’s too panicked to listen.

When I finally step out of the bathroom a while later – after he’s stopped banging on it and the apartment is quiet – I find my room a bombsite. He’s hidden the suitcases, he’s hidden my wallet, he is making sure I don’t escape.

I find him sitting on the bed, shirtless, a hand over his face. At one point, he’d gathered the divorce application from off the floor and he’s holding it in one hand now, looking down at it. He looks broken. There’s an open bottle of beer at his feet. He’s polished most of it off.

Despite everything, I feel bad.

I feel like no one ever warned me the hardest part of leaving was watching the person you shared such a huge part of your life with fall apart. No one said you’d stay longer to prolong their pain. It’s a train wreck you keep holding off because you’re scared of being responsible for their anguish.

I’m so sad.

I go to him and sit next to him. I stare at him, at the boy I loved for eight years. I hold his hand and rest my head against his bare shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him, feeling a tear fall. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

I’m sorry for breaking your heart.

He doesn’t answer.

This is the beginning of the end.

I need to be strong. I can’t waver. I’ve