𝖂hat would you do if the man who claimed he loved you with his entire being, woke up one day and decided he's not in love with you anymore?

A normal person would leave town, go stay with their loved ones for a while. Get drunk, move on.

A pyscho would plan their ex-lover's — ex-lover? — murder. Lure them in, erase your traces. Slash and get it done with.

Simple stuff.

A self-proclaimed insane persona would bawl their eyes out. Cry and cry and cry until there's not a single tear left anymore then walk around their house sobbing again every time they come across something that reminds them of the man who claimed he loved them but still left them.

They'd wear his hoodies to bed and curl up in a ball under the covers just to cry.

Eat ice cream while watching a happy romcom and cry because the man who kissed them like that isn't in their bed anymore.

Go out for a late night walk and swallow down their sob when they see a couple walk past, hand in hand.

Cry themselves to sleep thinking the next day would be better but the next day begins with them tearing up in the shower so it turns out to be another day wasted and gone.

Destroyed, ruined, burnt.

All for love.

Try and distract themselves by diving into work but then they see the pen they borrowed from him — from that one time when they were staying over at his house and inspiration struck unexpectedly but they didn’t have anything of their own to write with — lying on their desk.

And then they breakdown again.

And the cycle continues.

They kiss people they don't like, they consume drinks they don't like, they go out on dates with random strangers they don't like but nothing gets him out of their head.

Madeleine Gray would love to call herself a normal person but the thing is, she's been a self-proclaimed insane persona since years.

And so, when Trevor left so unexpectedly she wanted to trash the entire house and disintegrate into nothingness just so she could be left alone to bawl in peace.

She didn't want him to leave.

She didn't want him to go.

She never expected to wake up to an empty bed and hurry out of her room just to find him slipping his shoes on by the door.

"Where are you going?", she had asked breaking the eerie quiet of the dimlit apartment.

She'd known something was wrong the moment his back stiffened upon hearing her voice.

He'd cleared his throat, speaking without looking at her.

"Think it's time to . . . I just—I don't think I can do this anymore, Lena".

His voice sounded so broken that night, so defeated. And she wanted nothing more than to repair it, make him see just how much she loved him.

She'd hurried over, gently grabbing his arm to make him look at her.

But he wouldn't look into her eyes, it was too painful.

"What are you saying?", she'd laughed humourlessly thinking he was only making some kind of a weird joke.

It had to be a joke.

It couldn't be what her mind was telling her it was.

"I'm saying", he had looked up at that, stared right into her eyes — his own had been bloodshot and exhausted, she'd wanted to reach out but held herself back — "that I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry".

"You can't do what anymore?".

"This. Us. You and me".

"What'd I do?".

His heart had already been broken but hearing her say that, ask that, immediately blame herself was like a knife searing through him.

Twisting deeper and deeper as the each seconds passed by, the silence in the room heavy as they both stared back at each other.

Trevor suffering inside and Madeleine's eyes brimming with tears.

"What did I do, Trev?", she asked again in a timid voice, her hold on his arm slipping with the uncontrollable shaking of her hand.

He stepped back, her hand slipping down.

"You didn't do anything. I just don't feel like I can make this work. It's not about you, I promise".

"Why can't you make it work? I love you. And you love me. We can try. We can fix this, whatever it is".

He faltered at that, resolve slowly slipping but he needed to do it. And he needed to get it over with before he could breakdown and make the wrong choice.

"I . . . . That won't work", he shook his head.

She stepped forward and he took another step back, her heart twisting painfully in her chest at his rejection.

"Why not?", her throat constricted due to the lump begging to be unleashed.

"Because . . . .", he broke her stare and looked past her, at the door — she'd always remember that moment, that tormented look in his eyes as he focused on anything but her, sometimes it would also come back to her in one of her classic stress nightmares but the words were always the same.

He visibly swallowed, clenching and unclenching his fist. Still not looking at her.

"Because", his voice shakes, "I don't . . . I don't—I don't love you . . . anymore".

She had been so shocked that she'd frozen in place, confused and unreactive as he'd moved past her to pull the door open and leave.

He hadn't even waited for her reaction.

What a fucking coward.

He'd told her that he didn't love her anymore and then left her to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart all by herself, to mend and repair herself all alone.

She had tried to go after him, ran out of the apartment and rushed to the garage to talk to him but his car had been gone.

He was gone.

She tried going to his and Jamie's shared apartment the next morning but he wasn't there.

For one entire week, she stayed in denial.

It hadn't happened. It was just a phase. He was going to come back and explain everything.

She just needed to give him some time.

And then her things arrived at her doorstep in a box.

Everything she'd left at his house.

Every single thing.

And she'd just sat at the kitchen island, staring at the box in confusion while reality swirled around her slowly and gradually slipping past the love seeping from her wounded heart.

He was gone.

He didn't love her anymore.

He left, just like that.

No explanation, nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

And then she let herself cry.

And the cycle continued.

***
i'm so ready for this