“A part of me must’ve known.”
“What?”
“That this wasn’t going to last.”
The words feel stupid and aimless the moment they leave my mouth. If I had known, we wouldn’t have been about to marry each other in a month. It’s almost laughable now, the way we managed to convince ourselves that we were madly in love, but until we first stepped onto this elevator, it all seemed so real.
“Well, on the bright side, it’s kind of good that this happened,” he says softly. He sits across from me, hugging his knees and tilting back and forth ever-so-slightly. “A breakup? Sure, we can manage that just fine, but a divorce? It’d be hell.”
I think what hurts the most is that nothing really happened. We spent five hours trapped in this elevator before realizing it was the longest consecutive amount of sober time we’d ever spent together; and that we hated it. My only regret, though, is that we were honest about it immediately, unaware of the grim reality that is us, twelve hours later, in the same exact position.
Now I wonder if we’ll die here.
“And I know,” he pipes up again. “That you’re hell-bent on sitting there and being bitter, or insanely negative about this whole thing, but there’s really no need to be. It was a good thing that we had. It was good while it lasted.”
Though I couldn’t have laughed for a million dollars just seconds ago, now I have to fight back a smile. Looking down at my shoes, I sigh and mutter, “Sure, I’ll give us that. It was good while it lasted.”
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