I continued to ignore Michael and resumed packing up my belongings from my desk.
He moved in closer and tilted the box toward him so he could see what was inside.
"Abbi?" he asked.
I reached for the little succulent plant, the last of my things, the last trace of me, but Michael caught me by the wrist.
"Abbi?" he repeated.
I turned my head to face him for the first time and he flinched from the burning anger in my eyes.
"Come into my office," he said.
"I don't want to come into your office."
I tried to pull away from him, but he dragged me behind him and quickly shut the door of his office after us. He went to hold my hands in his, but I wrenched my hands away.
"Don't," I warned, my tone low and threatening, save the tiny quiver, the tiny crack in the dam.
Michael's eyes searched mine and for a moment I felt a twinge of pity for him; he was a blind man, unable to see what was right there in front of him. He was a blind man and would always be a blind man.
"Abbi, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft, and if I wasn't wrong, slightly scared. "Didn't you get my note?"
I scoffed. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't get dragged in emotionally. All night I'd steeled myself against a moment exactly like this one. I'd wanted to cut the cord between us with as much sentimentality as snipping a frayed hem. I'd told myself I'd had enough; I had no more to give, no more fight left in the game.
But I must have been wrong because the mere sight of his eyebrows knitted together in confusion was enough to fuel the dying ember in my heart to a dancing flame. I told myself I wasn't going to get angry, I was just going to get gone. That was all that mattered for me, for Zara. But goddamn if angry wasn’t starting to sound so, so good.
"Yes, Michael, I got your note," I said, for the moment managing to cling to that last shred of self-control. "I always get your notes."
I shook my head when Michael continued to stare at me like he just didn't get it: like he just didn't get why I was mad, like he just didn't get why I was leaving, like he just didn't get why this, us, was always doomed to fail. He was a man who laid a single plank of wood out over the edge of the Grand Canyon and didn't understand how it wasn't anywhere near enough for me to cross it to be with him.
With sadness and anger and frustration mixed like a bitter cocktail, I glared at him. "You really don't get it, do you?"
Michael's mouth opened. Then closed. The silence becoming deafening.
I dragged a hand over my face, my red eyes stinging from staying open all night. "A note doesn't mean you can just leave," I said, a wave of tiredness from my sleepless night suddenly hitting me. "You broke my trust again, Michael. Just like before."
I almost felt sorry for the burgeoning panic in his tone as he pointed toward his desk like it was a perfectly good explanation for him leaving again. "Abbi, Abbi, no, it was work."
"And it will always be work!" I shouted.
It was the last straw of my self-control. It snapped with a thundering echo in my chest and my anger poured out of me like molten lead.
"You just don't see it," I screamed as Michael stared at me like I had gone mad. "You refuse to see it! It will always be work, Michael. When it comes down to me and Zara or work, it will always be work."
Michael tried to take a step toward me, but I shoved him back and regretted that I'd ever pulled him toward me.
"Abbi, I didn't want to interrupt the rest of the road trip and—"
"Shut up!" I wailed, hands balled into painful fists at my side. "Michael, shut up, shut up, shut up!"
Michael stared at me in horror.
"You can tell yourself all the lies in the world if you want," I said, my voice shaking. "You can tell yourself it was one last meeting, one last document, one last conference call. You can tell yourself you need just one more promotion, one more award, one more zero at the end of your paycheque and then you'll stay. Tell yourself that till your voice is hoarse for all I care, but I'm sick and tired of hearing your bullshit. I'm so fucking tired of hearing your lies."
My cheeks burnt. And I fought with everything I had against the sting of tears in my eyes.
"You're never going to stay, Michael. And that's the truth," I said, shaking my head. "Because this," I pointed at the marble floor of his executive suite office, "this is what you think you want. This is what you think you need."
Michael followed my finger to the floor. I watched him stare at the polished and shining marble as if it held a way out of his fight.
"Abbi, I didn't mean to hurt you."
I bit my lip and again shook my head as the tears welled in my eyes. The poor, poor blind man.
"Michael, you didn't hurt me," I said. "You couldn't possibly hurt me anymore. What is one more cut to a lifeless heart?"
Michael
