This must be human behaviour she thought while packing her bags and zipping the last suitcase.
She slowly picked up the tubes of lip balm and gloss and put then in the small room. As she looked around one last time she sighed – thinking "where did I go wrong?" when did this become routine?
Wandering around the bedroom she got to the bed and let her hand glide through his hair one last time, she had always loved the texture, the smell – first thing in the morning sweat mixed with the faint sweet smell of watermelons. She stood a moment wondering and just feeling, when he moved about a bit she quickly pulled her hand back as if she had been burned – but still rooted to the spot, waiting for him to wake up and see she was going again.
She slowly began moving out into the living rooms to get her phone and find the keys, as she was tiptoeing out she began thinking "how could he?" and replaying that fateful night over and over in her mind. While she walked out and slipped on her shoes.
She went to the counter in the kitchen taking her keys, taking out the key for the flat and leaving it with a short note saying "still love you" – in her usual slightly messy and swirly handwriting. Tears started staining her cheeks as she moved towards the front door, silently praying and begging he would come out to stop her, tell her that she was the one he loved – nobody else mattered and that "she" was nothing but a distant memory.
But as she reached for the doorknob, she still heard no sounds other than the calm steady breathing from the bedroom. No signs indicating he would come to convince her to go back to bed and stay or at least wait until morning with leaving. No cautious steps from any of the rooms, no movement or sounds from the bedroom. After she had closed the door gently behind, so to not wake him up, she finally let out the breath she felt like had been holding since she learned the truth.
While she was leaving the flat she had been so focused on him and her leaving, she didn't notice when his breath had changed or when it had stopped all together.
Even if he had been awake when he learned she knew the truth about that night, he would have done nothing. He instantly knew he would no longer wake up to see her exhausted and peacefully tangled up the sheets with her smooth and shiny hair in loose knots and unruly spread over face and pillow. So unlike her normally perfectly styled hair, he thought while he listened to her zipping another bag closed.
He felt her warmth getting closer and closer after she had finished zipping her bags and suddenly he felt the familiar soft hands threading through his short hair. As they kept touching he started to pick up the soft smell of passion fruit and green apples, her lotion and shampoo, he still remembered how she would take out lumps from her jar and smoothly spread the rich cream on first her legs, then arms and torso making sure that she didn't miss a single spot, and that she always had perfect skin.
He became more and more obsessed with her smell as she kept standing there and kept touching him. His sudden obsession made him wanting to reach out to her – beg her to stay, promise it would never happen again – that "she" was just a long forgotten dream. When it all became too much and he started to reaching out for her – she jumped back like she been burned and rush quietly out of the room.
As she rushed quietly out of the room with her bags he started feeling numbness and pricking feeling spread, starting in the left arm and spreading over the chest and moving down his body as he heard the pencil making contact with the paper again. He could feel the numbness and pricking having spread all the way down to his toes that was now curling in numbness and pain when she had stopped writing.
It kept getting harder to breathe; he could feel the numbness spread to the lungs, constricting and relaxing at the wrong times and with no order at all. But he kept silent and just listened to her imaging how she would look with beautiful tear stained cheeks and glassy eyes standing lost in the hallway.
He started to feel the lack of oxygen wrapping itself around him making everything seem distant and faraway. He felt a tugging in his heart and instantly thought this must be how a broken heart feels like. As the thumping was slowing down he heard a distant clink when the key fell onto the hardwood floors, and again a muted clink when she put the key on the table next to the handwritten note.
As he slipped under the endless darkness of unconsciousness he heard one last sound, almost as he felt one last thump, a door clicking and closing. He let out his breath one last time. A breath he never he was holding.