Ben

Ben stares at me and I’ll never forget the look of pain in his eyes; or how the chill feels as it creeps into my very marrow. If I don’t do this now I’ll have lost.
I’ll be lost.

So no matter how frozen I feel, no matter how my heart aches, choking my insides; I know that I have to keep walking away. He called after me but I kept going.
“Left foot, right foot. Keep moving.” I chant, as much to move myself as to drown out his cries of protest.

I almost turn back. Just as I passed the fence post I heard the crack in his voice and instantly remembered the good times. How his skin smelt, how easily we held hands and how his touch gave me such pleasures. How could I leave?

I faltered and he saw; and he thought that he’d won. He called my name and I heard the triumph; but I wondered how he managed to not call my name when he was with her. His wife.

How could he go home to her smelling of me? Did she suspect? Or did she trust him as I had?

Would she ever know of me and of how I’d walked away from him – for her as much as for myself?

It doesn’t matter.
All that matters is that I keep going and not look back because if I do, I’ll stop. If I stop he’ll see it and he’ll think I’m
weak. He’ll think that I’ve changed my mind again, just like the other times.

What he doesn’t realise is that this time, this time I really mean it.

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