A room feels infinitely quieter after a fight. As if it also knows not to make a sound in fear of it happening again. Every little sound is amplified, and every breath I take is short. I can hear the wood creaking under my foot and my knee bounces, something I would’ve never noticed before. My heartbeat matches the fast rhythm of the squeaks.

I’m not even sure what to do with myself right now. Do I just stay sitting on this couch, counting the threads in the rug, like an idiot? Or do I leave? Walk out the door without a word.

I don’t know.

All I know is that that was the worst fight we’ve ever gotten in, and it was all bullshit. You were yelling at me over something that didn’t even happen. Something you made up in your head and convinced yourself was real. It’s infuriating. Being made a villain in your fantasy is not a role I want to play. But I know it’s not 100% your fault, which, kinda makes it worse.

Since we started dating about 8 months ago, I’ve picked up on your…quirks, I’ll say. Apologizing too much, overly anxious communication, accidentally isolating yourself, picking fights over small or made up things; all of it. It all points to one major conclusion, one I had to wrangle out of you after a fight eerily similar to this one.

You were hurt in the past—badly. And all of these quirks I’ve been experiencing with you are your defenses going up. Prevention from the past happening again. But, if anything, it’s just making it worse.

You had an asshole boyfriend who played the victim all the time, hence the apologizing. He would hardly communicate with you, so now you get anxious when I don’t respond for an hour. And you love to self sabotage, aka the made up fights. He wouldn’t ever comfort you, so you now find comfort in yourself. Which is what you’re doing now.

When the fight had escalated to its peak and my patience wore thin, the villain act you had me play became…less of an act. I blew up at you. I feel like an asshole for it, and you ran. As soon as it became real. You locked yourself in your bedroom to…comfort yourself. I wish you’d just let me in, physically and emotionally. Let me prove that I’m not him.

Suddenly, the sound of your bedroom door creaking open fills the tense silence. I keep my eyes planted on the floor as I hear your feet pad into the living room. Only when I hear them stop do I look up.

You’re standing off to the side, a huge sweatshirt enveloping you, with tear tracks on your cheeks. It breaks my heart, even if I’m still mad. I hold out my hand, hoping you’ll take it and come closer. And I nearly get up to thank the heavens when you do, standing right in front of me now.

“Baby… What was all that about?”