Undone

He cringed and braced himself when he heard the door open and close. He refused to look up from the TV, refused to acknowledge her. After a moment, he heard the soft clatter of keys on the glass table on which his feet were propped. That finally caught his attention. He looked up to see she was already gone, not a single word said, not even a sob. That had him confused. The anger he could handle. The accusations and demands for an explanation he’d learned to either ignore or deflect. The pleas to try again and the tears he’d come to expect. The sad, guilt-tripping eyes and silent tears he’d learned to let run off his back. But silence, that was new and he had no idea what to do with that.

            “Rosie?” He called out, missing the goal by Rooney he’d been waiting for all night. He took his feet off the table noticing his shoes had made smudges on the otherwise shinny surface – something he knew irritated her – and picked up the keys. Why would she leave her keys? For a moment, he felt a stab of fear although he had no clue what he was afraid of, then he shook off the feeling.

            “Rosie?” he called again getting up. She wasn’t in the kitchen or the study, the two places she’d seemed to love the most in his apartment. He went up the stairs to the room, his confusion turning to anger now. What was she playing at now? Cheap threats? He threw the door open brandishing her bunch of keys. His angry outburst died on his lips when he saw her side of the bed. Her night stand had been cleared out.

            “What is wrong with you?! You had no right!”

            “No right?! You’re one to talk about rights!”

            “I don’t have to listen to this.”

            “You had no right sleeping with someone else!”

            “You’re crazy, going through my messages, my mails, you’ve lost it!”

            “Don’t you walk out on me Philip!”

He marched across the room and threw open the wardrobe. Her clothes were gone, her million-and-one pairs of shoes. He stood there staring at the empty shelves in disbelieve. She couldn’t have left him, she wouldn’t. She needed him, he was her life!

            “Philip, can’t we just talk about this?”

            “Oh please can we not do this now?”

            “I just want us to…”

            “You really need to get a grip! Stop being such a clingy, whining mess. It’s really unattractive!”

            “I hate it when you’re upset and…”

Her puffy, tear stained face sent a wave of disgust through him.

            “Get a grip and pull yourself together!” he snapped, hating the way she was unravelling before him, despising her for her weakness and almost suffocating dependence on him. He turned away from the pained look on her face and started to walk out. She grasped his hand.

            “Philip…please…I need you…”

He snatched his hand from hers and walked out, slamming the door to shut out her sobs.

Frantic now, he ran to the drawers and yanked them all out. His socks and boxer shorts tumbled from the first two while the last two landed on the carpet with dull thumps, empty. Her underwear was all gone, every last one was gone.

            “Surprise!”

He gasped in the semi-darkness, his brief case  dropping from his numbed fingers. She came and wrapped her hands around him from behind. Rather than soothe him, the musky scent of her perfume only pissed him off. It was the same one Emily had been wearing tonight. He yanked her arms away and pulled her roughly around to face him.

            “What do you think you’re doing?!” he snapped, taking in the sheer lingerie she was wearing . “Dressing up like some cheap tart, I’ve got work to do and you would know what that meant if you had anything better to do than wait on tables, flirting unabashedly with punters all night!”

He shoved her away from him and walked out of the room, not wanting to see the crushed, hurt look on her face. He spent the night on the sofa.

The bathroom yielded no results, all her stuff was gone from there as well. He wondered what she was playing at, telling himself again that she couldn’t have left. No matter what happened, no matter what he said or did, she always stuck with him, had done for the last seven years. He went down the stairs and picked his mobile from the kitchen table where he’d left it when he got in. With trembling fingers, he dialled her number and waited while it rang. After what seemed like a life time, he heard the recorded voice that asked him to leave a message.

            “Rosie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he yelled into the phone. “You get the hell back here right now and stop being such a drama queen!”

            “What is wrong with you! Why would you embarrass me in front of all our friends?”

            “You did that all by yourself. What got into you?!”

            “What did you expect? That I would just sit there and watch you two carry on like that?!”

            “You’re simply unbelievable! She’s just a friend!”

            “Friend! She was blatantly throwing herself at you!”

            “Stop being such a drama queen!”

            “And you encouraged her. You were enjoying the attention weren’t you?”

            “I’m not doing this right now.”

            “Philip, don’t walk out on me again!”

He was gripping the phone so tight his knuckles hurt.

            “Rosie, this is ridiculous, pick up your bloody phone!”

            “Philip, you’re hurting me!” she whimpered.

His grip on her wrist tightened, cutting of her circulation.

            “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.” He hissed from behind her, pushing her hand further up her back.

            “Philip, please…” she whimpered again as her shoulder joint strained against the unnatural position of her arm.

He hitched her arm another few inches higher.

            “Did you hear me?” he said , tightening his grip on her wrists until his knuckles throbbed.

            “Rosie, get back home this instant! Where the hell would you go?! You’ve nowhere else to go so just get your backside here right now!”

He started to pace, his emotions alternating between anger and fear. By the time he realised she wasn’t coming back, he’d left about a hundred messages on her phone.

            “Rosie…please come back home…”

In frustration, he hurled the phone across the room and it smashed into the cooker hood. It clattered to the red and white tiles in three pieces. In a flash, he bounded after it and got on all fours, praying it still worked as he put it back together with trembling hands.

            “…I’m so sorry…”