Corre, corre, corre, corazón. De los dos tu siempre fuiste el mas veloz.
Toma todo lo que quieras pero vete ya.
Que mis lágrimas jamás te voy a dar.
Así que corre como siempre, no mires atrás.
Lo has hecho ya, y la verdad, ya me da igual.
"Corre" by Jesse & Joy
He was sitting in the living room while she packed her bags. It was over. Finished. He stayed there, thinking about everything that had lead them to this moment. The last five years going through his mind. Happy memories were now tainted, sad and angry memories winning the battle in his head. It was over and a great part of him was relieved. He was sick of pretending that this was working. Sick of seeing his face in the papers, all of the tabloids' speculations every time they found her out, without him, but not alone.
It had been fun at the beginning, and he really thought they could have made it work. But life doesn't work that way apparently.
He heard her steps coming out of the bedroom, rolling suitcases following her. She was coming from the side door of the room, not using the one that went through his study. She was taking the fastest way out and he wasn't surprised.
Their eyes locked for a second. An apology, a not quite yet forgiveness, a deal, an understanding between the two of them. He hoped that he could reach a point in his life in which seeing her wouldn't cause his heart to hurt so much.
Not for him, but for his little girl. His little four, an three quarters, years old who was currently hugging her mother, listening to her promises of visits and trips together with watery eyes, no tears in her face but he knew she was trying hard not to let them fall. Always so mature for her age. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't. He was going to stay strong for his little girl, he was going to be there to keep her safe, to explain once again why momma was leaving, to dry her tears after they fall and cheer her up with bizarre and overly sweet concoctions. He was going to be the greatest parent he could be, mother and father both. He was not going to cry. There were no tears to shed. She wasn't going to have his tears.
He stood when he saw Meredith trying to make Alexis let go of her. She needed to go, to leave them. She had a plane to catch. He had given her everything she had asked for in the divorce. After finding out, confirming, really, because he had always had the suspicion, about her affair with her director he didn't have time to talk to her. She had run away to Malibu without notice and he couldn't say he was surprised when he was served with the divorce papers a week later. Angry, yes, he was so angry, the small dent on his bedroom wall a proof of that, but not surprised.
She had left, just like that. So now she had come back to pick up the remaining stuff she had left here and because he had asked her to come and said goodbye to her daughter in person. He felt like the bad guy, making Alexis go through this, but deep down he knew his little girl needed it and hopefully, she would see it for herself when she is older.
Alexis ran towards him as soon as she let go of Meredith's legs. He picked her up and hugged her tight, like he knew she needed, while she finally let herself cry, her face hidden in the crook of his neck. He could feel her tears soaking the skin there, the collar of his shirt, his heart.
He watched as Meredith gathered up her stuff and opened the door. He felt Alexis squeezing him tighter, breaking his heart all over again. Meredith stopped, one foot in, one foot out. Their eyes meeting again. He knew that a part of his heart was leaving with her. He did love her once after all.
They stared at each other for a couple of minutes, she with a hand of the doorknob and the other on her suitcase, he with his, their, kid wrapped around him while he spoke soothing words to her little ears and rubbed her back trying to calm her. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to. She had hurt him, hurt them, and she was sorry. He knew that. He also knew she didn't regret the divorce. Neither did he. He knew he hadn't been the perfect husband either, but at least he had tried. For his little girl, he had tried his best. But it hadn't been enough. With a small nod of her head she turned around and exited the loft, the soft click of the door closing the only sound in the place.
She had left.
So this happens when you're out in a club and a story comes to your head and won't leave you alone. First story I have ever written/finished and decided to post so be gentle with me.
I'll be over there, hiding under the bed. :)