Fed On Leftovers
As she sat on the desk, in front of her Laptop, her fingers were shaking.
It had been a particularly nice week. A family week in Tarifa, to get some sun, to breathe in some summer spirit before the German winter got them all. There had been interruptions, arguments; more than one. But this time he had apologized. Had said he'd try and change. For her.
He had just about managed to break everything down in two sentences. And this time, maybe more than ever, she was not sure whether the pieces would easily be fixed again.
It had been bad mood that had made him say that.
But he had said it. He had hurt her, yet again. Without any reason to begin with. And just as always, the rest of the family had just sat there, listened, and not said anything.
Just that this time it didn't feel like always.
This time there wouldn't be any mother coming in after a few minutes to talk about it, and explain that he didn't mean it and that it'd be all right. This time, her father would leave for Paris in a few hours time and that certainly wouldn't be enough to fix the problem. Not this time.
This time he messed up big time.
And he didn't even know it.
Because for him, it was just like every other time before. He had said something. Hurt her. Apologized a few moments later, and when she didn't forgive him right away, he had been mad, shouted, and left. He was so muc more a little kid than she was in many ways. And he wouldn't listen,
Maybe he didn't care.
Her fingers shook violently now. Through shirt, sweater and thick jogging pants, there were goosebumps on her arms and legs. She felt cold.
Not this time.
This time she would not surrender.
Forgive sounds good
Forgive... I'm not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I'm still waiting
Not this time would he get away with that.
She opened her mailbox and started to write.