Sometimes My Writing Warmups End With A Scene Like This - Tumblr Posts

“I don’t love you. How could I? You ruined me. You took every shining part of me and ground it to dust beneath your palms, showing me the grit like it was a kind of adoration. So, no, I cannot love you.” She went to leave, and Clara stopped her, a hand on her arm.

“Wait.”

She stopped, chest aching. “Why.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it wasn’t quite the excuse Clara was hoping it would be either.

“But you did it anyways.”

“Sophie, please.”

“Clara, I’m not doing this with you anymore. I can’t.”

Clara let out something between a sob and a laugh, hand dropping from her arm.

“I love you,” Clara’s voice cracked, and Sophie knew it was a prompt. Say it back, Clara was urging. Please, Sophie, say it back, take me back, don’t leave me.

Sophie didn’t cry. She didn’t.

“I told you that you destroyed the best parts of me, didn’t I?” she said softly. Clara nodded, hesitantly, like she could see where this ended and didn’t like the destination.

Sophie tipped her head up, turning away until she could no longer see Clara at all. Just feel her, at her back.

She was not crying.

Her cheeks were wet.

“Well,” she said, and her voice was wet and it broke and she tried to pull the aching shards of agony back into place around her heart like emotional barbed wire. “You didn’t get the ending you wanted, did you. No fairytales, right Clara? No heroic endings, no sunset credits. No Pinterest boards or motivational quotes, because we aren’t that kind of love. You said that, remember?”

“Sophie.”

“You ruined me,” she said, and this time, it wasn’t an accusation. Just a statement.

“Sophie.”

“When you destroyed me, when you destroyed all of those wonderful parts, those fairytales and quotes and sunsets, what did you think you were taking from me?”

Sophie didn’t let her answer, turning to face her.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered for Clara. Clara grimaced. “Because when you destroyed those best parts of me, you destroyed the only part of me that knew how to love you.”

Clara looked like Sophie had shot her.

Sophie wanted to laugh. She cried instead.

“Don’t you see,” she said wetly. “You ruined me, but you ruined me for yourself, too. Killed me so no one else could have me, but didn’t expect to lose me in the process, did you.”

Clara took a step forward, and she stepped back.

“No takebacks,” she warned. “No fairytale endings. No kissing in the rain. We aren’t that love, are we, Clara,” she spat, and it was venomous. Clara looked sick.

“I’m sorry,” Clara whispered, and maybe, just maybe, Sophie thought she might mean it this time.

“Regret is beneath you,” Sophie said in place of forgiveness, and she opened the door. “Next time, don’t destroy the only part of someone that knows how to love you. Leave that bit as you destroy the rest. But whoever you destroy next time won’t be me.”

Clara didn’t stop her when she slammed the door behind her.

Sophie never said her name again.