“Don't call me, don't look for me, you hear? I don't wanna know about you!” The words came out of your mouth when you slammed the door, after yet another argument with Carmen. You wouldn't soon forget the words he said to you tonight, you wouldn't beg to come back around like you always did.

He was freaking out about his problems. Every day something new came up and you couldn't just let him deal with things his way, no, you had to control everything, even him and his life. No matter how much he loves you, this was already driving him mad.

So, yeah, it was a nasty argument. He took his frustrations out on you, you did the same to him, you broke up, you cried and got angry and he just let you go. Nothing new, you both knew that you telling him not to call you tonight didn't mean anything.

When would this relationship start to work without you two having your hands full of stones to throw at each other?

Carmen was as complicated as you. He said nothing, no feelings, no thoughts, it was always silence. When you asked him, he'd lie about it—then, push you away, he just pushed you away every time he felt you were too close to see him for who he really was.

Honestly, everything had a reason and deep down, he knew he did it 'cause he didn't want to get attached to you. You'd leave at some point, wouldn't you? What he really liked never lasted, so he learned to never like things or people too much, that was what he did with everything, with everyone, especially with you.

You were addicted to his lies, Carmen was addicted to not really letting you go.

A lonely ride across town, to home, all alone and sad, when his favorite song started playing on the radio you burst into tears as you sang along and banged your hands against the steering wheel almost angrily.

Traffic was at a standstill on the avenue, it was just you, your tears and the memory of him yelling at you. Damn, you were hating every second of this stupid night. But, you sighed deeply and turned the volume down, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you did so.

Your mind suddenly went blank when you heard your phone ringing on the passenger seat, his name flashing across the display. No, no, don't answer that phone! Your pride was screaming, sharing space with your hurt, but something made you answer that call, nothing new again.

A sigh of relief was heard on the other end of the line, you didn't say anything, but he knew you were there, that you were listening to him. “I'm sorry, babe,” he said. Not that he thought it was all his fault, but it was faster when he didn't try to make you understand your mistake, though you had already begun to understand. “I took my frustrations out on you and I'm really sorry for that, I didn't really mean those things I said.”

Your silence was still there, simply 'cause you didn't know which approach to choose. Your regret and your pride were in constant battle inside you, whether you'd take part of the blame or you'd let your resentment speak louder after what you heard from his mouth.