He had a tendency of being wrong. He knew that. It wasn’t something that he was ashamed of. After all, he knew she had plenty of moments of her own.
It was hard for her to consider. She always bundled it all up. Inside. After all, the only time she had ever let it go before landed her in heartbreak. She didn’t even know how to unlock the deadbolt. She was glued. Paralyzed to the chair. She rubbed another tear on the arm.
His heart wrenched on the floor. In his cold wet seat next to the keys that had no use. After all, how do you break the chain, without breaking the trust. He knew she had to draw it from left to right, and let it drop against the door frame.
She tried to imagine the sound of the deadbolt sliding in it’s chamber. She prayed the click of it didn’t spiral her into a panic attack. But her feet still wouldn’t reach to the ground. The floor was just too cold. The walk back across the room would be unbearable.
It was cold, and his shoes were wet. He curled his toes trying to move some blood around. The way he did on cold nights in bed when she wrapped her arms around him. When he would dream so deep he couldn’t collect himself after awaking. Its how he knew. But he hoped. He hoped as loud as he silently could.
Endnote: For the continuation, read Two sides…