"His entire life is a work of art, not just his work." She'd talk about his travels, his connections, his passion. The word passion was thrown around so much it lost all meaning. It became an adjective used to describe everything he was and everything I wasn't. Alex was passion, I was a paycheck.
Alex was a wanderer, I was a homebody. Alex was an artist. I was a commodity. I was just the guy who paid the bills, the financial safety net, the stable ground she could stand on while she reached for a different kind of life, a better one, one that didn't include me. I remember thinking more than once that I felt like a stepping stone, like I was serving a temporary purpose, and when that purpose was fulfilled, I would be discarded.
I pushed the thought away. I told myself I was being paranoid, jealous. She was just talking about her work. She was just talking about someone she admired. But every time she said his name, a little piece of me felt like it was crumbling away.
I tried to talk to her about it. I sat her down and said, "Sarah, I feel like you're pulling away. What's going on?" She sighed, a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "Nothing, Mark.
You're overthinking it. I'm just busy with work. My creative energy is finally flowing, and I need to be focused." She said the last word with a pointed stare, as if my very presence was a distraction. I backed off.
I told myself she was right, that I was being insecure. I told myself that her success would be my success. I believed it, right up until the day she came home with a different kind of look in her eyes. It wasn't the look of a person who'd had a good day at work. It was the look of a person who had a secret, a person who had made a decision she knew would break someone's heart.
She set her camera bag down on the kitchen counter, and the silence in the apartment was deafening. I knew what was coming. I just didn't know how badly it would hurt. Her expression was flat, emotionless. It wasn't the look of someone who was about to deliver bad news.
It was the look of someone who was about to close a business deal. The air in the room felt thick and heavy, like a storm was coming. I knew, with a sick certainty, that the conversation I had been dreading was finally here. "What is it, Sarah?" I asked, my voice coming out quieter than I intended.
Just tell me. She sighed and finally met my eyes. Her gaze was completely devoid of the warmth I had seen for 3 years. This isn't working, Mark, she said, her tone as casual as if she were talking about a burnt dinner. My heart sank.
What isn't working? We can fix it. I just want you to be honest with me. She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous habit she had when she was avoiding something. It's not about fixing anything.
It's about honesty, actually. And my honesty, it means that I can't do this anymore. I could feel my composure starting to crack. Sarah, you're scaring me. What's going on?
Are you telling me you want to break up? She scoffed, a tiny, dismissive sound. Break up? It's not a breakup. It's a realignment.