That Night

I don't remember what I said that night I asked him to leave because I had so many thoughts running through my mind. 

I know I wanted him to leave without a fight, or at least without more than we were already fighting. I wanted him to take as much of his stuff as he could so he wouldn't need to come back. 

I hadn't planned it, but I had thought ahead to an extent: I had twisted his key off of the keychain and hidden the spare so he wouldn't be able to come back whenever he wanted. I didn't think he would be the type to come ransack the place while I was gone, but I didn't know for sure. I didn't think he would be the type to come in while I was sleeping to do... whatever crossed his mind, but I didn't know for sure. 

I did know that he was the type to argue that it wasn't breaking and entering since he had a key. I knew how his mind twisted logic to not only make him the victim but also to make him sound vindicated. I was sick and tired of dealing with that side of him, and I wasn't going to do it anymore.

I don't remember what I said when I asked him to leave, but I remember how I felt. I remember my shaking hands. I remember the adrenaline coursing through my body. I remember, the second the words left my mouth, thinking, "Oh shit, I shouldn't have done this alone." I scrolled through my mental Rolodex, wondering who I could have called to help.

He had never hurt me before, not physically. But I saw the way his face got red, the way he clenched his fists, and knew I'd have to fight. I was disappointed in myself for thinking it could be easy. I was disappointed in myself for thinking of every option but this one. Why couldn't I have waited for another night, when someone could stand in the doorway, watching us, phone in hand ready to hit "Call."

I thought I had covered my bases, but I overestimated myself and underestimated him. If that didn't sum up everything, I don't know what would. I watched his fist flex and wondered where I could go from here. My heart kept pounding, for now.

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