**Enough**
Never say “I love you” when you really mean “I’m sorry.”
I don’t stare at you. I deliberately don’t look at you, while you stomp around the apartment in dress-socked feet. As if you’re the one who’s been wronged. I scoff and shake my head.
Not only will you not have apologized when you *know* you’ve fucked up, but you’ll have tried to make me feel guilty for being too pissed off to say it back.
You yelled at me—took your awful, stressful week out on me—but *I’m* the heartless bitch who can’t say I love you back. I’m just one more thing in your life that won’t go right. Won’t cooperate. Won’t do and be and act the way you want me to.
My eye twitches when I hear you and your temper slam doors as you move through our home.
I love you.
You know I do.
But right now, I can’t stand to be in the same room as you.
I hear a loud crash, followed by a stream of swears.
Sighing, I shut my book and set it on the coffee table.