She falls to her knees, crying uncontrollably, unable to to breathe. She's never felt this heart-broken over anyone before. She grasps at her chest, trying to hold the pieces together. Tears stream down her face, dragging down black streaks.
"What did I do wrong?"
"Nothing. It's my fault."
"But why? How did we get here? I thought everything was going just fine. I thought we were..." The rest of her thought buried in her sobs.
"I'm sorry."
Her head starts spinning and her throat is so dry she can't speak another word.
It pains him to see her like this, but he cannot go back on his decision now.
She buries her face in her hands and thinks to herself "How could you be so stupid to fall in love with someone you knew you could never have? You never should have started playing this game."
She grabs her coat from the floor and blindly walks out the door. She hurriedly puts her coat back on as she stumbles to the elevator. She rapidly pushes the buttons, thinking why does it always take so long for elevators to get to her floor. She paces back and forth waiting for the doors to open. She's never felt so cheap and embarrassed, but at the same time, she keeps hoping he will come out and get her. The doors open, she stands still and stares at the door to his apartment, waiting, hoping it will open and he'll chase after her. Seconds pass but the elevator doors start to close. She puts her hand out to stop it from closing and steps in. Another wave of disappointment wrenches at her gut. She pushes the button for the lobby, and falls against the wall, crying quietly now. She hails a cab to go home, trying to keep her voice steady as she tells the driver where to go.
When she gets back to her apartment, she takes off her coat and sees herself in the mirror. Black stockings that only go up to the thigh, black lacy thong, black bra and camisole. It was his favorite outfit on her. He would always say how sexy it made her hips and legs looked. Now she just feels ridiculous. The mascara has become a pool of black under her eyes and she can't stand looking at herself. She peels off her clothes, steps into the shower and lets the hot water beat down on her.
After what felt like an eternity and the water started running cold, she steps out, puts on an oversized t-shirt and pajama pants and crawls into bed with her phone. She checks to see if he's messaged her. Blank notifications. She holds it close to her chest, just in case he messages later. She stares up at the ceiling, hoping the phone will vibrate. An hour passes. Two hours. Three hours. He's probably asleep by now. She's tempted to send him a message, but instead checks her phone every 5 minutes to make sure she hadn't missed any messages from him. Hundreds of images of them together flash through her mind as she lies in bed, unable to sleep. She thinks back to all past relationships and realizes no one has ever ignited these sensations in her before.