I know you're hurting. I can see it in every part of your body. The way your eyes flicker away but keep coming back to me when you think I'm not looking. The way your body is slumped over the table. The way your knuckles have turned white from the death grip you keep on your beer bottle. The way the vein in your neck pulses.

You're hurting, and you're angry, and you have every right to be. But you also have to understand that I have every right to do this.

His arms around my waist shift and he pulls my back closer into his chest. The stubble on his chin grazes my temple as he talks to his friend, and your lip twitches. I know you scorn him. But it doesn't matter what you think, not anymore.

When you stand abruptly, the knot in my stomach tightens. What are you going to do?

Don't cause a scene.

But you don't. All you do is shrug on your coat and head to the door, but you drop your keys and wallet on the table. Audibly. You want me to know you're not leaving.

I don't care.

Today was supposed to be fun, but then you showed. I didn't think you would.

I don't care.

I wish I didn't care.

But I can't help myself.

I gently wreathe out of his embrace and excuse myself, slipping into my own coat and pushing open the heavy wooden door. An icy breeze whips my face. Snow settles in my long hair. Pushing my hands deep into my lined pockets, I follow the trace of your footsteps in the wet, ankle-deep white powder.

The cabin is beautifully lit from the outside as well. The reunion is in full swing. Everyone is there, inside, drinking punch and catching up. Except for you and me.

I find you on the other side of the log building, the side where there are no windows, no fairy lights. The faint glow from around the corner scarcely illuminates your face. The shadows flicker across your face, matching the dark pine woods in the background. You look like part of a still life, the way your back is leaning against the wall with your hands in your pockets and your eyes shut.

The frosty air is heavy and laps at my bare ears with sharp tongues. When you hear the crunch underneath my boots, your eyes fly open. Your head turns. The look in them knocks the air out of my lungs and makes my heart stop, just for a second. I'm offending you, again. You don't have to say anything. But you do, of course.

"Him?"

"You knew before you came tonight."

"The understudy?"

Your eyes are cold and insulting.

"He's not your understudy."

"It took you all of five minutes."

"That's not fair."

"Oh, yeah, talk to me about fair," you reply bitterly.

"You knew before you came tonight," I repeat.

The rapid fire ceases as your head turns away and falls back against the log wall. You let out a short, humorless laugh. A few seconds pass, stretch into a couple of seconds, then a lot of seconds. A gust of wind howls around the cabin.

"I didn't expect it to make me this sick."

The tone of your voice speaks volumes, and I have read them all. I swallow, running a hand through my wind-tossed hair. Your piercing eyes meet mine and my hand freezes mid-air.

"I just don't understand," you say and your voice sounds strained. "You never gave me any warning signs."

"Yes, I did. So many."

You're frustrated now. Your body moves away from the wall, your shoulders leaning slightly forward, bracing yourself for collision. "Yeah? What the hell good were they if I didn't pick up on them?"

But the collision doesn't come. I'm not letting you pull me into this again. My voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. "Maybe you should have listened."

Your eyes still show the same confusion, the same disbelief, the same hurt as when I told you the first time. This whole scene is one big déjà vu, like a film I've seen before. I didn't like the ending last time. But I don't know if it'll be the same ending this time. It hasn't been long, but I don't know you anymore, not enough to predict what you'll do.

Your desperation is palpable as you turn your back toward me and your gloved hands grip the back of your neck. An owl hoots in the forest. Somewhere in the distance a tree branch succumbs to the weight of a lump of snow which drops to the ground in a deep rustle.

"Why did you come out here?" you finally ask, eerily calm.

Now it's my turn to be speechless. And you know it. The way you turn around, dropping your arms to your sides, and stare right at me. You know you've got me.

"If there's truly nothing left between us, why did you follow me here?"

Your gaze is strong, too strong. I can't stand it and avert my eyes. I'll be damned if I admit it. On the ground, snow crystals sparkle in the dim, warm light from around the corner when I move my head ever so slightly. Finally, I take a deep breath and lift my head to meet your gaze.

"There's nothing," I lie just as calmly.

Suddenly your calm demeanor drops like a cloak and you take a big step toward me. I flinch, stumbling backward the same distance.

"Don't fucking do this," you warn.

"I'm not doing anything." I hate how my voice quivers. I know it's giving me away. You can tell. You could always tell.

"You're acting like we were nothing. I know we were walking a thin line. We had our problems. I fucking know we weren't perfect, okay?"

"I'm not your problem anymore."

You choose to ignore what I said, as you do best. "But you made me believe that we were good."

"I didn't make you believe anything."

"What do you want from me?" you launch at me.

"You're not fucking listening! I want nothing from you. We are done. The fact that you don't know why I would be with him is exactly the problem. Stop! Stop pulling me into this again. We were a fucking train wreck. I'm done! I'm done."

My eyes well up, and my frustration at this fact only makes it worse. The wind carries someone's faint laugh our way from the indoors, but the thick blanket of snow swallows every other sound. With a forceful exhale, I fumble for a tissue to dab at my eyes, careful not to smudge my makeup. I don't want there to be evidence of my weakness, evidence of you. I hate that you got me to crack, though I shouldn't be surprised. Over the years, you've learned how to get under my skin, perfected the craft. I can't bear to look at you. I can't afford it.

"I'm done," I repeat more quietly and desperately wish for it to be true.

"Listen," you begin, likewise more quietly.

"I've been listening for way too long," I say and turn to head back inside when fast crunches announce someone approaching in long strides, and then I am confronted with his concerned face. His gaze slips over my shoulder and latches onto you for a second before returning to me.

"Everything alright?" He doesn't need many words. It is now. His voice is tender and soft and he wraps it around me like a fuzzy blanket, smoothing over the surface of me that you left raw and rough. Gentle and comforting, pulling me into his warmth. I want to reach out and brush my gloved fingers over his flushed cheeks, get lost in his blue eyes, forget everything else.

I nod at him. His concerned expression doesn't fully disappear, but he nods back just barely. I close the distance between us, snake my arm around his midsection, and try to reassure him with a squeeze. All of this with my back turned toward you. As his arm slips around my shoulders, I release an internal sigh of content. Arm in arm, he and I walk back to the cabin. I don't look back. I don't intend to look back ever again.