In that one brief statement, he confirms my worst fears and solidifies my decision. Ripping what’s left of my shredded, mutilated heart out and stomping it all over the floor until there’s nothing left but a mess. He’s chosen to go through with marking her and this is his goodbye. His confirmation.
Then don’t. Maybe just leave me alone until it’s done, and then we’ll see what happens from there. I need to go. I have to go do chores.
I lie, trying to sound tough. Mentally scathing in tone, even if my body is shaking with the buildup of the sobbing that’s coming. Trembling as I try to hold it in, breathing fast and shallow. Throwing cold and snappy in there, while my limbs are quaking with the effort, but I can’t let him know what it is I am planning on doing. He would stop me, even with h
