I'm Sorry I'm...

    “I- I…m’ not,” I choked over the sounds as they spilled clumsily past my lips. But her green eyes stared relentlessly through my lie, digging into my skin, which was now red hot. She stood impassively before the door.

“Stephen…” She sighed. It was as if she were telling to admit it to myself what she already knew.

Part of me wished that I could run into my closet, close the door and never come out, that she wouldn’t find me if I did so. Part of me wished she’d leave and never come back- perhaps if I stuffed my face into my pillow and closed my eyes she wouldn’t be there anymore. Part of me wished she’d just say something, yell at me, chide me, tell me I’d go to hell. Anything would be better than this cold, accusatory disappointment that was so palpable in the ringing silence.

    Then she did something that tore away the last threads of composure to which I had been clinging. She let slip from her eye a single, glistening tear.

    I couldn’t stop it. It came all at once. I didn’t even know before it was too late. Tears poured out of my eyes, which were almost closed by the contortion of my face. They dripped onto my hands, which were desperately trying to conceal the indignity of the feelings that I had suppressed for years. I couldn’t even tell what I was trying to say, but between gasps of steadying breath I repeated the same words: “I’m so sorry.”

    When I was finally able to hold back my emotions long enough to become aware of my surroundings, I realized that her arm was around my back, that she was comforting me, whispering that it was okay. My stomach twisted itself into a knot. I lifted my head and looked directly into her eyes. I groped blindly for words to express my ineffable anguish, sorrow, regret and pain. I wanted to tell her how horrible I felt that she had to be the one to console me after I had deceived her. Opening my mouth, all that came out was: “I’m sorry.” But unlike the previous, desperate attempts to apologize, this one came out in a soft, low voice that trembled slightly. She looked at me for a minute as if searching my soul for sincerity.

    “You can talk to me, you know,” she said quietly, making it impossible for me to look at her. “And I won’t tell anyone. It must be really hard to be… you know.”

    I gulped and nodded. She stood up, turned and left my room. She glanced back apologetically before she closed the door, though I don’t know what she had to be sorry about. Once I heard the door click shut behind her, I fell back onto my bed, laid my face in my pillow and began to cry silently, if only because I did not know what else to do.