She paces, back and forth, too afraid to go in, to see him again. She fears being reminded of what she has done.
Not that she could ever forget, the darkness that haunts her, the nightmares that break her from her flimsy sleep, peace refusing to visit her; but seeing him back in person will only tighten the knot in her stomach she’d been carrying ever since.
She pauses, her back to the door, pushing down the feeling of queasiness. She spins around in a moment of courage and madness, grips the handle. Hesitates.
She snatches her hand back as if she’d touched fire and brings it up to her face. Her front teeth resting on the nail of her thumb. The dread boiling within her is in a tug war with longing.
Longing to see his face one more time, to see him.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, places her hand on the handle again, opens her eyes and with it she twists the knob. And there she finds him, standing quiet and calm, and yet his features captured in a moment of pain and fear. She cannot help the fluttering that overtakes her chest and stomach. How can he still dictate such a feeling within her.
Or should she say it? Even in statue form he still inspires such a wave within her, one that pushes her towards him.
Entranced by his presence, she approaches him, slowly. Carefully. As if she might scare him…err… it away, as if she could cause it to animate and escape. Run in the other direction, just like she’s seen him do so many times before.
Once she is close enough, she feels a pathetic sense of achievement over the fact that she managed to get this close to it without it fleeing. As if it somehow made up for all the times he has.
She caresses the face, her fingers meeting cold marble, feeling awfully appropriate for how cold he has been to her, stone like. Emotionless. Just like she wishes to be.
Her hand reaches to hold its hand, when she realizes the roughness. She looks down at it and notices the parts that were darker in color, splotchy and worn off starting to fall apart. Her touch causing bits to crumble. Panic overtakes her. She examines it, finally taking in all the details. There were many parts that were in bad shape, it’s hopeless.
She still can’t have him, can’t keep him.
She did this to keep him, turned him to stone to keep him to herself, to punish him, to trap him.
To finally stop him from running away.
She still couldn’t keep him.
She threw herself onto its form to embrace, stumbling she causes the figure to fall and shatter into thousands of pieces.
She stands over the dismantled figure, that was once a body, once someone she loved, in horror.
She could never keep him.