June 1st, 2017 
boston, massachusetts
Will you please stop pacing? You're going to wear a hole in the floor, young lady.

There's a sarcastic tone in the voice inside your head and all you can do is roll your eyes, shake your head, and groan loudly as you putter around the bedroom of your old apartment.

Or you can just not listen. That's cool, too.

"Oh, because you're such a great listener?"

Hey man, I said go to Bali, get some sun, meet a cute cabana boy and rebound the shit out of it. You're the one who decided not to leave. I'm just a voice in you're head, you're the one that controls us.

"You're the worst."

You only kept this place to rent out on Air B&B, and you’re glad no one has it reserved this week. You needed a goddamn break from, well, pretty much everything. It’s like all of the bullshit came to a head all at once and now it feels like you’re just breaking down. You told everyone that you were going out of town, that you were getting away to clear your head, but you never actually left. And you can’t help but laugh at how stupid it seems, because three days ago, being alone was the last thing you wanted.

Funny how quickly everything can change, though. It’s something you should be well used to by now, but you’re still taken aback by it. One second, you’re on top of the fucking world, the next, it’s all crumbling down around you. Something always seems to get in the way, whether it's your own separate insecurities and emotional baggage, or uncontrollable events that neither of you seem to have any control over... or the fact that you're apparently some lunatic mercenary from another world, there was always something that was throwing a wrench in the gears.

Dude, you're really overthinking this, you know that, right?

“Will you please just shut up?” You finally snap back, flopping down on the bed and falling backwards so you’re staring at the ceiling. You reach up, covering your eyes with your hands and sigh heavily before pushing your fingers through your hair.

There's a pause, and you imagine that if the disembodied voice in your head actually had a face, she'd probably be scrunching her nose sarcastically and shaking her head, before finally answering with a simple Nope.

Why did you have to get saddled with a fucking personality that had it’s own voices? Why couldn't you have gotten something easy, someone sane. Maybe someone sane wouldn't be talking to themselves like a fucking crazy person.

At least we're a cute crazy person.

"You're not helping." All you can really do is sigh and shift, turning onto your side while your mind wanders and your fingers absently play with a loose thread on the comforter.

When he came home and found you, he stayed, worried, while you slept, while you changed in ways you had never asked for. And then you hid from him like a fucking asshole, for two days, while you sorted your shit out. It wasn't anything against him, you just needed to get your fucking head together, wrapped around whatever the Hell was going on.

When you tell him that you’re taking a few days to yourself, because you don’t know what else to do, he tells you that there’s nothing left to do. And then he tells you that he thinks that the two of you should end things. That feeling of your heart dropping into your stomach and then your stomach dropping down to your feet hasn’t left since you grabbed your teleporter and left.

Sometimes you can love someone with every fiber of your being and not be able to be with them. Which is the worst fucking feeling in the world…

Your own words echo inside of your head… Which is actually pretty goddamn obnoxious now that you have a voice up there, too. All you can really do is swallow down the lump in your throat and curl up into a tight ball.

You weren’t wrong, you know?

“You don’t get a fucking say in this.”

I'm you, sweet cheeks. Of course I get a say in this.

“Don’t remind me.”

Falling in love wasn’t easy. It took time. It took patience and understanding. It took so much to get to where you had been in Japan, and for the first time in a long time, you thought that maybe you could actually get a happy ending. Of course, now you could kick yourself for thinking that maybe, just maybe, it could have worked, that maybe the two of you could have had a chance at happiness, when it constantly seemed like the odds were stacked against you. Because wasn’t that what love was? Overcoming the odds? Or maybe you were just too fucking naive and optimistic for your own goddamn good?

Or maybe we just wanted someone to love us.

Is that sincerity you hear?

Maybe it’s right. Maybe you were just desperately trying to fit your broken pieces together. And maybe in another life, maybe if you’d figured it out a year ago, things would have been different. But all those maybes don’t matter now.

That lump in your throat is back and it feels like it’s fucking choking you, no matter how hard you try and swallow it down. To add insult to injury, you can feel the tell tale burn of tears building up in your eyes and you blink hard, sniffling, to try and keep them back.

Oh, come on. Don’t cry. We don’t cry.

But you’re overwhelmed, frustrated, tired, and angry, more than anything, though, you’re just fucking sad, because you had hoped and you had worked so goddamn hard to be good. You had tried so hard to be patient and kind and understanding. Maybe you hadn’t been perfect, but you had never claimed to be, and you tried your best in spite of that. Apparently, you're just karmically screwed, though. Before you know it, the taste of salt is spilling onto your lips and all you can really do is bury your face in the pillow.

You're not sure how long you're lying there, maybe it's only a few minutes, but it feels like forever. Eventually the tears are all dried up and your throat feels like fucking sandpaper and that lump seems to have at least found it’s way to your stomach. Still, when you sit up, you wipe the back of your hand across your eyes and swallow hard as you pick up the teleporter that had been sitting on the nightstand.

If this really is the going to be the end, then fine. Sometimes there were things you just couldn't control, sometimes shit happened and you had to roll with the punches as best you could, you learned that a long time ago. You might not be happy about it, no one would expect you to be, but you know that when all was said and done you'll be okay; maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you'll get there... but not before you at least get to have a chance to say your peace.