Last Breath

“Why are you freaking out so hard? It’s fine!”

Same conversation we always have. I have panic attacks. It’s not rocket science. But it is a killer of relationships.

“I just need to breath and talk it out. I’m not ok, you know this. Can’t we just work through this?”

“Listen, you get butthurt over random shit at random times and let’s face it, even the sex isn’t that great anymore. We’re clearly over.” She’s made up her mind. Another victim of my mind. I’ll just grab my toothbrush and go. Deep breath.

“Listen,” I begin to tell her… what? “I just- I’m sorry.” Nice speech, idiot.

She walks me out the door, hugs me, and says “talk soon?”

“Sure.”

I get in the car, a grown man trying hard not to cry. I’m a mess. I can barely see from my tears. Take a breath. Such a mess. Her loss, right? What a joke.

I’m driving home, crying and eating from a bag of chips. I’m at the light down the road from her house, waiting for the green. I see it and ease out into the intersection just in time to be creamed by a truck. It wasn’t a green light, it was a green arrow. I don’t recall the airbags deploying. I don’t know how I got in the ambulance. Breath.

I hear in the background “that’s my boyfriend, he just left my house!” And then she’s there beside me. I tell her with my last breath “I guess I am the one leaving you?” Of course I would crack a joke.