I lived in a strung state around you, tuned to a point of the finest tension. I know you liked to keep me that way, ready for the stroke of your voice and touch, primed for the pluck of your words.
At some point I was bound to go out of tune, though you didn’t want to acknowledge that. That destined moment happened at our tenth anniversary. Standing there amidst friends and family you ignored my warning glances, disregarded my quiet requests, left me standing alone while you twirled someone else to my favorite song.
And I snapped. Like popping strings my nerves frayed and gave way, driving me across the club. You turned a hard smile on me that sliced through the last of my control.
The pain from the slap arrived as the scarlet blossom of my slap bloomed on your cheek. My words dropped like discordant notes, interrupting the party.
And I left, stalking across the room without a backwards glance, leaving you to try to find the remnants of the strings with which you once held me captive.