You still haven't forgiven me for that vending machine at the station, have you? You cried because the salt and vinegar chips got stuck and I literally had to kick the glass out. You were always so dramatic about snacks. I lost my favorite shoe that night while you were vibrating on the linoleum. I was the one who had to deal with the security guard while we walked home in socks, Ana. It's pathetic how you still hold onto that.
Don't you dare call me being dramatic. You were the one who started the fight because you're impatient. I wasn't crying over the food, I was terrified because you were causing a scene like a lunatic. And you lost that shoe because you werere clumsy, not because of me. It's pathetic that you think you're the hero of that story. I still have the shoe, by the way. It's in the box under my bed.
You still have the shoe? God, you're actually insane. You kept a piece of trash for years just to have some leverage over me. I wasn't causing a scene, I was trying to get us food while you stood there like a deer in headlights. You always did flip the script to make yourself like the victim. It's the same thing you did when Mom found out you broke the vase. Move on or throw it away. It's exhausting.
I didn't break the vase, you knocked it over while you were practicing those stupid moves and made me take the heat for three weeks. You always had this way of rewriting history to make yourself look like the martyr. And I keep the shoe because it reminds me of how incredibly reckless you can be when you're bored. It's not leverage, it's a warning. Stop acting like I'm the only one who's exhausted from listening to your excuses.
Practicing moves? I was trying to get out while you were rotting on the phone with Sarah. Typical again. You loved the heat because it meant someone was looking at you for once. And don't give me that "warning" crap. You're dehydrating yourself with all that bitterness. People are literally looking at us, stop-whispering and talking about old shoes. It's embarrassing. I need a drink. Just keep the trash.
Sarah was the only one who actually listened to me, unlike you. And don't you dare talk to me about embarrassment. You're the one standing there in a crowded bar making a scene. Go get your drink. I'm not lowering my voice just because you're sensitive. It's always about the exit with you, isn't it? You can't be anywhere for five minutes.
Sarah listened because she was paid to, or maybe she just pitied you. You always did need an audience of one. And yeah, I want to leave because I'm not the only one here who notices when the room is burning down while you sit there soaking in the smoke. If staying here makes you feel more like a martyr, then fine. I'm tired of being the anchor for your delusions. I'm going to the bar. Don't follow me.
Go then, run to the bar. You're always looking for the exit the second things get even heavy. You're not an anchor, you're just the weight dragging everything down. Sarah didn't get paid, she just actually tolerated your temper. I'm not following you because I'm tired of watching you fly off. Just drink your drink and try not to trip over your own feet wandering off. It's exhausting.
The weight dragging everything down? That's rich coming from someone who hasn't made a decision since the nineties. Sarah tolerated me because I actually have a pulse, unlike you. You just sit there and deconstruct the air right out of the room. I'm not flying off, I'm moving. There's a difference. Stay here then and enjoy being miserable. I'm done being the one who has to actually live while you pretend you're drowning.
"Moving?" You've been pacing in circles for twenty years, Gil. You call it moving, I call it being unable to sit still for a second without being confused. And don't talk about decisions like you actually handled our parents' divorce with grace. Go on, hide behind the bar. Maybe the cheap gin will give you that false sense of purpose while you keep drifting. I'm not drowning, I'm just watching you splash around in the shallow end.
Grace? I was the one who signed the papers while you were locked in your room pretending not to exist. You didn't have to face anything because you were too cowardly to look up. I handled the mess because someone had to, and don't you dare lecture me about the shallow end. The gin is cheap, yeah, but at least it tastes like something. You're just sitting there waiting for a life that's never gonna arrive. You look like a wreck.
You didn't handle the mess, you enjoyed the power of being the one with the pen. I was in my room because I couldn't stand the sight of you smiling while you played the responsible adult. You call me a wreck? Look at yourself, vibrating in a dive bar because someone looked at you twice. Go ahead, drink your pathetic gin. It fits your desperate habit of being ignored. I'm not waiting for a life, I'm just waiting for you to stop talking.
I enjoyed the power? I was drowning in bills while you played invisible. You loved the martyr act because it kept you from having to actually grow up. It's easy to be small. You want me to stop talking? Fine. Silence is the only thing you're actually good at. Just sit there in your rot. The neighbors are staring. I'm getting another round, and don't expect me to bring you anything.
The neighbors were always staring because you were shouting at the mail every time you forgot to pay a bill. You didn't love the martyr act, you loved the excuse it gave you to complain about your own failures. Go get your round. I don't want anything from you, especially not your charity. You always think silence is a weakness because you're terrified of your own thoughts. Just get to the bar and let me sit in peace for once.
Shouting at the mail? I was trying to keep the lights on while you were too busy being "deep." You call it failure, I call it survival. You want peace? Take it. It's the only thing you've ever earned. I'm not terrified of my thoughts, I'm just tired of hearing yours. They repeat in a loop and it's deing. I'm at the bar. Don't look for me when I leave.
Survival? You couldn't survive a quiet afternoon without making it a tragedy. You always loved the drama because it's the only way you can feel important. Go, leave. I won't be looking for you. I've spent half my life watching you walk into the next room, I'm not going to start now. Just finish your drink and get out. The air is already better without you talking.
The air is better? Please. You've been breathing the same stale resentment since high school. You love the tragedy because it gives you an excuse for doing absolutely nothing. Sit in your silence and pretend it makes you stoic. I'm walking out the door anyway. I'm done playing the role of the villain just because you can't handle the truth. Enjoy your quiet, Ana. I hope it's as empty as you are.
"Empty?" You're the one who can't fill a room without filling it with your noise. Go walk out, Gil. The door was always there for you. You're not a villain, you're just a person who hates that they can't control the narrative. I'll be right here in the silence you find much more honest than your ego. Don't trip on your way out; I'm not coming to pick you up this time.
You'd never come to pick me up anyway. You liked the idea of me stranded; it felt safe. You talk about honesty because it's the only thing you haven't ruined yet. Go ahead, hoard your silence. It fits you perfectly. I don't need your narrative when I have the reality of what I do every day. I'm out. Don't bother calling when you realize the silence is actually loud.
I'll never call. I've been used to the quiet long before you showed up. You think your "reality" is just a series of frantic choices you make to convince yourself you matter? Go, then. The street is cold and I'm sure you'll hate it. Don't act like you're doing me a favor. You're just finally giving me space to breathe. Close the door on your way out.
The street is cold, but I'd rather have the wind than another minute of your voice. You think you're deep? You're just comfortable in your own decay. Go ahead, take the space, it's all you've ever had. I'm not closing the door; I'll just leave it ajar so the draft can finally finish your little illusion. I'm done with this.
Leave it open, then. The draft is the most honest thing you've offered all night. You talk about decay like you're not the one falling apart every time things get uncomfortable. Go out into the wind, Gil. It suits you better than any room ever did. I'm not watching the door, and I'm definitely not waiting for you to come back. Just go, and stay gone.
Stay gone? That's the first thing you've said tonight that actually sounds true. You want me gone because I'm the mirror you can't stand looking at. Enjoy your shadow, Ana. It's the only thing that actually talks back. I'm not coming back to thank you for the space or the silence. Just sit in it until it suffocates you.
I'm not your mirror, I'm just the person who remembers who you actually were before you started lying. You hate seeing that because you can't lie to me anymore. Go hide in your shadows. The silence isn't suffocating me; it's finally a relief from your constant performance. I don't need your thanks, and I certainly don't need your presence. Just walk away.