“I don't think its going to work out,” he said. Aidan couldn't hear anything else after that. His lips moving, flapping and flopping like fish in air, was all Aidan could see. Words uttered like “it was a good run” and something that resembled a “I love you” made him shiver. He felt sick.
Aidan ran into the restroom and felt his dinner leave him. Was it the news or that weird chicken curry he had at that Indian restaurant?
He stumbled out into the hall of his apartment. Who was this man who was talking to him? When did this man become so refined, eloquent, so different? His boyfriend— no wait, his ex— was an immature man, one who wouldn't act thankful for the gifts he received and wouldn't think twice before saying anything.
The man who was once a lover he knew stood up and made his way to the door. Aidan ran to him and held onto his arm. “But I still love you...” In this whole ordeal, this was the first time he cried. Trickles at first, they became hot salty rivers that flowed freely now. His chest ached, a slow bruising pain that transformed into a knife that ran into heart. Was it a heart attack, he thought to himself.
“But I don't.”
There was the man he was in love with. Aidan gave his love to him, but Aidan saw it in his eyes. Those dead eyes, they said, I have found another, I never expected this to last this long, and thank you for wasting your time and money on me. He shook Aidan's hand off and turned. The door closed behind him and walked out of his life.
There was the man he once loved. Ungrateful.
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