The breakup

He hesitated. A split second. The small move of shying away. Barley noticeable. Almost imperceptible. But there. I will come live with you, she said. He did not expect it. Not even a little bit. Well maybe just a little bit. But here it was. And maybe it wasn’t so much a hesitation as a flinch. Not dramatic. Not flamboyant or obvious as a left tackle leaving the line early, but still a flinch none the-less and, obviously not what she was expecting or maybe it was exactly what she was expecting but needed to ask anyway. Involuntary was the way he would describe it. His muscles betraying his desire not to hurt here. His silence, the knife. Her turning away for good. A blood trail home.