#7 
She was sure that he’d follow her. When she told him that it was up to him, that if she walked out that door, she wouldn’t come back, she thought it would be just like every other time. They would argue. They would fight. They would tangle themselves in the sheets and stick together for hours and wake up wrapped around one another at the beginning of a new day.
The door closed behind her with a snap, and he didn’t follow.
She made it to the elevator and hesitated, watching the door, sure he’d open it and follow.
Nothing.
The elevator doors slid shut slowly and, numb, she pressed the button for the lobby.
* * *
He hit the stairs running. He’d waited until she was out of site, indifference painted on his face like a mask. He barely held it in…the hurt in her eyes floored him. Still, he wanted this time to be something more – a turning point after which they saw how bad it could be, and the fights ceased. He ran, but halfway down, he tripped. It was a stupid mis-step. He hit the wall hard on his shoulder, screamed, and staggered to his feet. He turned and stumbled down, but too slowly now. He’d have to catch her on the street…he thought his arm might be broken.
* * *
She hit the lobby. It was empty. She pushed her way out the door without looking back, but she couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t think. She stepped into the street and stopped.
The bus did not stop.
* * *
As he hit the lobby, he heard the sirens.
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