I trace my fingertips across the car door making designs in the dirt. You yell at me, but I can't hear you.
All I can hear is the pounding of my heart. The blood pumping through my body echoes in my ears, and your voice sounds distant. What I imagine it sounds like after a bomb goes off to those who were standing too close.
I stare at the the ground, the setting sun, the neat circles of dirt on the tips of my fingers, anywhere but at you. Even though your looks are bouncing off me like rubber bands, even though your words sound like they're going through a filter, I can tell you are begging me to look at you.
Ears ringing, eyes stinging, I slowly meet your gaze. Now, I'm no lip reader, but I could see the venom dripping off your lips as you spoke. There's no mistaking that foul, fricative-fronted phrase.
But I deserve it, I know.
You look as if you are about to say something else, but you stop yourself with just a nanosecond to spare. The words left your brain but never made it to your tongue.
Instead, the thought manifested itself in silent tears that dripped down your face. Tracing my mistakes across the the cheeks I used to caress, down the neck I used to kiss, toward the heart I didn't mean to break.