He couldn’t take it anymore. 

This fight, their first real fight, had gone on too long.  The date began well enough, laughing with their hands interlocked over the dinner table.  He still could not believe he was now able to look into her eyes with love and want, and without the shame and sadness mixed in the way it used to be.  He was now able to be honest, and looking into her eyes like that was now welcomed; more than welcomed really, they were eagerly accepted. 

After the first few months, everything fell into a very comfortable place.  Whether on a date or just watching television on a lazy Sunday afternoon, it was just easy to be with each other.  They never ran out of subjects to discuss.  They had talked about everything; which reality dating show was best (Flavor of Love was obviously the best dating show ever created), if he should keep the new hair cut or grow it back out (she preferred the shaggy look herself), will Michael be able to deal with Jan or will she drive him to utter insanity (it was unanimously decided he would be certifiable in a few months time), etc.  But they never really talked about the truly important matters; matters of their past.

Of course the subject of Karen had been broached.  She couldn’t help herself.  She had to know what happened during and after the interview, and what transpired between him and Karen afterward.  Roy had also been brought up on a few occasions.  He needed to know why she went back to him and what it was that finally ended them for good.  However, that was as far as either of them had been willing to go.  It was easier to keep the conversations strictly on their past, separate relationships than about the tension they had managed to build up when it came to their own growing relationship.  Somehow, it finally had been brought up, and suddenly that perfect night felt more like a disaster than anything else.

Why did she have to say those two words, and say them the same way she had the night they began their downward spiral.  It cut him deep, even though he knew in all honesty she didn’t mean for the remark to come out the way it did.  It no longer mattered, however.  The slowly collecting tension in the car on their way back from dinner took a turn for the worst and they found themselves shouting at each other inside her apartment for what was now approaching a full hour. 

“How could you have just left without any warning, without telling me?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you called it off?”

“You came back with her!”

“You had rejected me… TWICE!”

“I was ignored for months!”

“I can’t do this anymore!” he finally shouts at her from the doorway of her bedroom, slamming the door as he exits.  She is left sitting on the corner of her bed with her head in her hands.  He walks toward the front door, but does not have the heart to leave the apartment.  He cannot bring himself to leave her right now.  Instead, he sits exhausted on her second hand couch in the middle of her small living room with his elbow leaning on the arm, his hand propping up his head.  The anger is stewing in him.  He just sits in the darkness, wanting to go back in her bedroom and do… what?  The urge to go back grows with every second he remains sitting there.  Eventually calming down a bit, he still knows once he sees her again his anger will come back.  He just needs to know, to hear her say it…

 “What the hell am I going to do?”