"It's always been that way, it seems

One love begins, one comes undone"

✦

For the six days following the night I visited Matthew and I's old apartment, I avoided the house. This meant I didn't see Harry or communicate with him via the sticky note method I had begun.

A week had passed since I confronted Matthew at his job and there was nothing but radio silence. He didn't call or text. He didn't care.

I'd pass time by going to the cemetery or Matthew and I's old apartment. I hung out with the no-name lady as well and we mostly sat in the quiet. We were using one another for company, both not wanting to be alone but also not having the energy to converse.

On the eighth day following the confrontation I returned to the house. Surprisingly, Matthew was here.

When I went upstairs and entered our room I noticed how the drawer of his beside table was open. It was where he kept the ring and the watch; I had closed it after I took them.

I found Matthew hunched over in the closet, his back to me. Peaking over his shoulder, I saw he was cradling a shirt I had given him for his birthday. It was a white tee with the words "whoopsie-daisy!" hand painted across them in yellow.

I inhaled a sharp breath at the sight making him jump. He fumbled around quickly to face me.

"Ev," he said and his voice cracked, his forehead creased.

My attention was centered to the shirt. I remember making it because he was constantly using the phrase as if it was his slogan. I'd given it to him when we lived in the apartment and I'd snag my foot on that stupid floorboard which accentuated my lack of grace. He'd always say it when I'd trip.

I kneeled down to his level, pulling the fabric from his hands into mine. The cotton was worn in and heavily washed as he'd worn it like it was a uniform up until the promotion.

"Ev?"

Finally glancing up to him, I felt like I was looking into eyes I didn't recognize. Not ones I'd seen and cherished for the past six years.

His irises were a quilt of varying shades of brown, mostly on the light side of the spectrum. I used to wrap myself within them for the warmth, but now as I did they just felt itchy and thin and cold. A layer of them was missing, the wool between the fabric no longer there, leaving them flat.

"Matthew," I acknowledged.

His lips parted as he struggled for words. "Are you okay?"

I released my hold on the shirt, letting "whoopsie-daisy!" drape to the floor. "What does it matter to you?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Wha—"

"A week," I began, getting comfortable on the floor. "It's been a week since I saw you." With Melly. With the gold watch—he wasn't wearing it now.

"I... I know Ev, but—"

"You don't care," I finished for him. No emotion was detectable in my tone.

His face was overcome with pain as if I'd cut him as he groaned, "no, you know that's not true."

"But how? How isn't it true?"

"I knew you were at the motel. I called." Why? Why? Why?

I pulled my lips into my mouth, shaking my head. "Then why didn't you come?"

"I wanted to, please believe me," he pleaded.

I brought my hands to my pocket when I saw his fidget.

"Then why didn't you?" I repeated.

I could feel my resolve begin to slip at his vulnerability. We hadn't been alone for this long or this close in an abundance of weeks and I missed him. I missed Matt. But this wasn't him. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew.

"I didn't know what to say," he exhaled, facing the ground to hide his watering eyes.

"Well that's not good enough, Matthew."

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, covering his face with his hands. I couldn't trust they weren't crocodile tears.

"I don't even know who this is," I whimpered.

His neck snapped up and his bottom lip was wobbling and his eyes were bloodshot. He had plum bags as well though they weren't as packed as mine.

"Your husband. Matt, your husband, who fucked up everything. Your love," he choked out. My love, my love, my love.

At the last couple words, my whole body was overtaken by a flush of something unidentifiable. A heavy pressure.

"Stop," I croaked. My face crumpled as I began to lose my ability to breathe and think. Your love, your love, your love.

His expression morphed into concern and he quickly placed his palms on my shoulders.

"Breathe, baby, just breathe. Everything's going to be okay. Breathe," he cooed as soothingly as possible in his mid-cry choppy voice.

I did my best to focus on his eyes and his sound but it made me get more worked up. It was just itchy and thin and cold.

"Shut up! Get off me!" I screeched, yanking my body away from him.

In a mix of fear and shock, his arms jerked back. He watched me with tears chasing their way down his cheeks into his stubble as I curled into a ball and regulated my pulse.

After tense minutes had passed, I rested my weight on an arm, my body laid out on its side.

"I—I need you to take these," I stammered, grabbing the ring and the watch from my hoodie with shaky hands. Meaningless jewelry.

One at a time, I placed them in the short patch of carpet between us. Silver. Dull. Second place.

"I can't keep carrying them around," I explained, my voice trembling. They were like medals but of a loss, nothing to be proud of. Second place. I began to crawl backwards out of the cramped closet. "Please, take them back."

"Where are you going?" He frantically asked, ignoring the jewelry in an inability to address the issue.

"I... I don't know," I confessed, pausing halfway out the threshold of our room. Glancing around the bedroom and back to him. "I can't stay here. I can't be with you right now."

His frown deepened. A 'please' died on his lips as I hurriedly stomped down the stairs and out the front door.

I sprinted to the mailbox. No sticky note. Immediately I twisted and ran to the house like I was doing laps.

"Matthew!" I yelled.

He clumsily flew down the stairs, his foot slipping when he jumped off the final step to meet me at the foyer. Whoopsie-daisy! He caught himself on the banister, his eyes on me during the whole debacle. Hope. He was drooling it.

"Ev! Yes, what's up?" He straightened himself out, fixing his clothes.

"Was there a sticky note on the mailbox?" My teeth sunk into my lip, blood coating my tongue like I licked a penny.

His nose scrunched in confusion before his eyes popped wide open. "Yeah! About a week ago actually..."

"Yeah, well where is it?" I inquired, my hand rapidly moving in circles towards me.

He stood still for a moment thinking. Too slowly.

"Matt!" I shrieked in frustration. My veins were coursing with blood born from anxiety and stocked emotion now bursting from every orifice. Red streamed from my eyes and ears and mouth.

"I threw it out!" He admitted in as loud of a decibel as me.

"Why!"

"I didn't know what it was!"

Then I was running out the door again. Matthew didn't come after me.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

I pounded on Harry's door, tapping my foot as I waited. When the door opened however, it wasn't Harry on the other side. It was Rose.

I hadn't seen her up close yet. She was beautiful; her hair a very light, warm maple brown and irises a bright celeste blue verging on the cusp of white. Her cheeks caved in, the bones seeming as if they regularly needed dusting. Her lips were thin but shapely, a natural dusty pink.

The tone of her skin was almost translucent it was so fair, especially in comparison to the tan olive of mine. Her body was lissome, draped in a simple white chiffon dress.

"Hello," she greeted, her eyes squinted in concern.

My energy deflated by a smidge but my words still sped from my mouth. "Um, hi, sorry for the banging and all, I was just wondering if Harry was here?"

Her small smile faltered. "Are you Evdoxia?" She guessed, her pronunciation of my name awkward.

"Yes." I searched the space behind her for him. My fingers drummed on my thigh.

"He told me about you," she disclosed in a frail, maybe sad tone. Pity?

What did he tell her? I was their neighbor? Their dog tackled me? I was an emotional mess who wouldn't talk to him even though he was the only person I could tell what shade of grey I was because he was the only person who might've cared?

"Oh. I hope all good things?" I hesitantly half-laughed, half-wheezed. Where was he?

Her fingers went rigid and straight my her side as she said tightly, "yup."

I took a step back, my mind mulling over where this man could be. "Thrift store?"

Rose nodded and I spun around at the slightest tilt of her head.

Harry, Harry, Harry.

By the time I reached his shop I was panting, sucking in autumn air. It wasn't opened yet so I knocked away on the door. When it did swing open, my hand was right before him, about to hit his chest.

"Harry!" I yelped in relief.

At first he grinned but then as quick as it came, it left. Hurt. "Evdoxia?"

"Harry." I held my hands behind my back to hide their quivering.

"Evdoxia... what—why are you here?" His face was overtaken with perplexity.

Why was I here? I never completely thought it through. I began playing with the corner of a nail, pulling it to where it'd give and rip off.

"I don't know. I wanted to see you I guess," I admitted, searching him for a reaction. "I—I can go?"

As soon as I said that his neutral expression dropped. "No! Stay," he urged, his hands reaching out to grab me if were to flee.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Come in."

The inside of Thrifted Styles was coming together. The cash register was completely set up and empty racks lined the floors in columns. The walls were decked out with random, flashy art and band posters, shining under the fairy lights strung across the ceiling. In the back there were changing rooms protected by curtains and shelves for knick knacks and such.

"It looks great," I complimented, marveling at everything.

He smiled, no teeth. "Thank you."

We stood there, neither of us knowing what to say.

"Um, lets go in the back, there's some chairs back there."

"Okay."

I wished the store was acres longer so the walk there would take more than a couple seconds.

Against the back wall there was a floral printed sofa and two mismatched arm chairs by its side against the left wall. It was set up in the corner to cater to people waiting for others who were in the dressing rooms which were on the right side.

I snuggled into the cushions of one of the chairs. "It's so cozy. I love it."

He smiled, teeth and dimples accompanying it, making me smile too.

"I didn't see your sticky note. I came back today and, um, Matthew threw it out, he didn't know what it was."

He pursed his lips and his neck fell forward, his eyes downcast. His fingers mingled aimlessly together. "Thought you were ignoring me."

"No, I..." I wanted to say I would never but I'm not sure that's true. "I'm sorry, Harry." It was an apology he couldn't deny; I was in the wrong.

"I'm sorry too."

"Why?"

"I was pushing you to talk to me. That's not fair," he shrugged.

"I shouldn't have reacted like that though. I went berserk on you because my brain is stir fry right now."

"It's ironic we're supposed to be making up but we find ourselves disputing about who is more wrong," he chuckled.

I bit my cheek, lightly laughing. "You do have a point."

"So..." he sung, dragging out the vowel, "how about we move on from that pish pash and be good ol' Evdoxia and Harry again."

"I like the sound of that." I was grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. Harry, Harry, Harry.

I missed him. I needed him. He was a distraction from Matt and Ev and Matt and Melly and everything bad and sad. My happy Harry.

"So, why the sudden enthusiasm to see me?" He smirked, cocking an eyebrow. "Rose texted me."

My cheeks burned with heat and I slid down my chair while loudly groaning. My back ended up on the seat portion and my toes strained with the pressure on my feet from my weird position.

His guffaw at my embarrassment made me crumble to the floor in my own fit of laughter.

"You... sound... like... those rubber chickens!" He gasped out.

The good kind of tears sprung to my cheeks. Happy Harry tears.

When we calmed down, I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips at him. "Rubber chicken?"

"Yeah," he cheesed. "The ones that you push the air out of and it makes that scary chicken squak."

I couldn't even insult his laugh, it was so cute. Drawn out ha! ha's! that sounded so fluid and natural and pretty parting from his tongue.

"Whatever," I rolled my eyes, now sitting on the floor and using the chair as a back rest.

"That's it? Give me the fire!" He hollered humorously.

I called back to the only thing I could criticize him for; when he named his star after me. "You can't name things for shit!"

"Hey!" He looked like a wounded puppy, pouting and all.

"Name that plant!" I spontaneously pointed to the leafy spider plant hanging above us in the corner.

"Um.... Evdoxia!"

I made a sound of victory. "Exactly."

"What makes you qualified to judge names?" He clipped.

"You literally gave it my name," I said quizzically.

"It's a pretty name." He tried to hide his smile behind his hand but the pull of his cheek gave it away.

"What it is, is Greek as hell," I corrected matter of factly. My mother loved the name, she knew it'd be my name as soon as she knew she was pregnant.

"You're Greek?"

"One third. My mother was half Greek, half Indonesian, and my dad's Spanish."

His eyes scanned me head to toe, settling and noting the different features of my face. He mumbled something under his breath that I didn't catch.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Anyways... how about you try naming Ms. Plant, hm?"

"Um... Morticia," I confidently decided.

He let out a small laugh. "Alright... Morticia it is."

I grinned. "Yay."

Suddenly, his face became very grim. "Evdoxia?"

"Harry?"

"Do you wanna talk about the sticky notes?" He asked with caution.

My mood dampened as I pulled my knees to my chest. "Um..."

"We don't have to. No pressure."

"We have to sometime, right?" I shrugged.

"Not if your not comfortable."

"You're a good person, Harry."

His posture softened and he seemed shocked. "Thank you."

I inhaled a big breath. "So, what did your sticky note say?"

He got off his chair and onto the floor so he was right beside me. "I wrote, 'in what?' I didn't understand, are you in a competition?"

"Unwillingly," I replied sardonically.

"What do you mean?" He inched his body closer.

"Sometimes I forget that everyone is a person who has opinions and desires and priorities. I forget that just because I hold someone on a higher pedestal than everyone else, they don't have to do the same to me."

"Did someone hurt you?" His voice was like a ocean breeze before a storm, serene in its strength but also impactful, harboring a sharp edge of unpredictability.

"Remember what I said? Everybody falls down."

"But not everyone gets tackled," he murmured, his eyes boring into mine.

"Isn't it all the same? Either way you end up on the ground," I reasoned.

"The difference is the impact of the fall. You can't ice broken bones better, Evdoxia."

"I know," I huffed, "but you can't wrap a cast around your thoughts either."

"But locking them away only makes them rot and contaminate the rest of you, angel."

"I can't, Harry," I whimpered. The idea of telling Harry about Matthew and about everything had my pulse jump-start.

I talked to the no-name lady, whose name I'd still never sought, but we talked about relatively nontoxic material. I told her Leonora Papilio was buried at the graveyard and that I hadn't seen her since I was 15. She used to make me hot chocolate and she's why my husband and I fell in love. And out? The closest to dangerous information breached was how I didn't attend her funeral.

But no one knew about Matthew's infidelity through me. I wonder how long his coworkers had.

Harry's hand cusped my knee. "It's okay. Just promise me one day you will?"

I released my lip from my teeth. "I promise."

He got off the ground and helped me up, touring me around the specific details he'd implemented in his shop. Whether it was a Simon & Garfunkel vinyl or the flower painted glass cup he held pencils in on the desk, he had a story behind it.

Over an hour had passed as I listened to him speak passionately about every square inch of space. I'm not sure if I comprehended half the things he said or just focused on the glint of light glide across his left eye and the rapid change of shape his lips took on to perform as fast he wished and the happy Harry glee slick on his skin, so thick I could swipe it off with my finger like syrup.

"Harry," I interrupted him mid rant about how he accidentally creased his Joan Baez poster.

"Yes," he answered distractedly, flipping the folded corner of paper up and down like it'd fix it and wasn't worsening it.

"You make me happy."

The poster stopped flapping but he stared at it as if it was. I could see one side of his face from my angle and the cheek grew a bit rosy.

"Huh?" He said dumbfounded like he'd woken up from a deep sleep.

"You make me happy." And Matthew made me sad.

"Oh." He met my eyes with his own blinking ones, both pink cheeks visible. "You make me happy too." I find that hard to believe.

We were smiling like dorks at each other, our cheeks twitching at their stretch.

"Okay," I whispered.

It was odd to feel so at peace and so happy with Harry after the last week and really past couple months. For a while I was miserable and morose and tears became a sludge over my face as they piled on. Then I met Harry and in the midst of dejection, he'd make me laugh and say such sugar sweet things to me that all my molars had cavities. Then I went to Matthew's work which functioned as a botched dentistry appointment for my happy Harry teeth.

Witnessing Matthew's sexual encounter with Melly ripped out each saccharine spoiled tooth. I was certain he was no longer Matt and certain he was cheating because I felt it, but at his work I saw it, I heard it. And the watch too.

The gold watch. He took off the silver one just to wear that one instead. Tock, tock, tock.

The ring also, he hadn't been wearing his wedding ring.

He cleansed himself of my attachment and his new one was stood beside him while I had to face incontestable evidence. Everything melted away. Every chance, every wish, me.

My mind parted from my body till I was all skin, flesh, organ, and bone with no ability to recognize that my brain was discarded on the floor of that insurance company's building by Matthew Miller's office. What'd the janitor think, mopping up the goo and squishy tissue of my brain at the end of the day?