Julio sat at one of the two chairs his kitchen possessed. He could always think better when he was sitting rather than standing; lying was best, but for now sitting would do. He sat there trying to think of something to say, trying very hard to think of something very good to reply with. But his mind refused to co-operate, and instead continued to fill with incoherent words. Each time something began to make sense, he'd open his mouth, but quickly shut it again, realizing that his thoughts would impede to make sense once out of his mouth.
Realizing that September wasn't going to put a stop to this awkward silence that was slowly eating away at him - and her too, he assumed - he decided he didn't have to reply with something very good. Anything at all would do.
"You're leaving." His voice came out deep, with his small Spanish accent that years of speaking, and mainly thinking, in English had mostly erased. He merely repeated the highlight of September's long, tongue-tied ramble, not knowing what else to say.
September looked up at the sound of his voice, but her gaze quickly returned to the ground when she found herself staring into Julio’s deep emerald eyes.
"Yes." She mumbled to the floor, shuffling her feet a little, her shoes squeaking across the tiles, a sound not unwelcome to Julio's ears. The sound, though usually rather annoying, was such a normal, daily sound that it caused his mind to immediately clear and organize itself, knowing that this was just another event to add to the week, the month, and even the year. All this was actually happening, and all this would actually end, just as it had actually begun.
Even though his mind had cleared and his thoughts were now comprehensible, Julio still did not know what to do or say. He didn't want her to leave, that much he was certain of. He cared for her, he cared for her enough that he knew he would hurt if she left. But, did he love her? He did not know, but would it really matter if he did? She was the one leaving, and if she could leave him, she obviously did not love him, right?
The questions blew through his head like tumbleweed in the wind, staying only long enough for his confused brain to acknowledge them before they left unanswered. He took a deep breath; maybe if he gave his brain more oxygen, he reasoned, everything would start to make more sense. It did not.
Maybe he should tell her; if not that he loves her - he was still not certain that he actually did - than at least that he cares about her. That he doesn't want her to go. That -
No.
Through all the chaos in his mind, the questions, the maybes, the what-ifs, the word sounds out loudly, demanding to be heard.
No. None of it matters. Not any of the questions, not any of the potential actions. Nothing matters but this one simple word: No.
Though small, the word conveyed all the knowledge Julio was looking for. It told him: don't worry about the questions, he doesn't love her and she doesn't love him, that's all he needs to know. It said: he shouldn't do anything, shouldn't tell her anything, that nothing he says will change her mind anyways; she doesn't care about him, remember?
Julio, usually quite rational, always thinking things over before accepting them as fact, found it extremely easy to believe that neither of them cared. Not only did he find it easy to believe but he found it plausible.
"Okay."
The word came out clear, like he was agreeing to an extra scoop of ice cream with his desert. But, although clear, it was thick with his Spanish accent; something that only happened under extreme emotion.
It was that second, just as the word sounded out, he realized that he was stupid to have believed neither of them cared. It was that second he realized he loved September with all his heart.
The word that brought Julio realization brought September devastation.
September stood transfixed on the spot, leaning on her left leg, her auburn hair wrapped around her finger, cutting off all circulation it had once enjoyed, looking down. Her blue eyes, cloudy as the sky before the storm, melted holes in the kitchen floor; in her minds eye she could even see the kitchen below. Down there the kitchen seemed cozier. At the table sat a couple of friends, sharing a pizza, laughing at a joke. She wished she was there, in that kitchen, eating pizza, laughing at the same joke. She wished it more than anything else. But she was in this kitchen, and instead of telling a joke, Julio had just said the worst possible thing; instead of making her laugh, it made her want to cry.
He had told her that he didn't care. In one little word he had said: go ahead, leave, I probably wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't of told me.
Maybe she should tell him that she cares about him. Maybe she should tell him that with one word from him she would have gladly stayed. One word, any word except the one he had given her. Maybe she should tell him that she loves him and that she thought he felt the same way.
No.
The word popped into her mind, not in her own voice, nor the voice of anyone else she knows.
No. None of it matters. Not any of the questions, not any of the potential actions. Nothing matters except this one simple word: No.
Hesitantly, September listened to the word and all the thousands of words it conveyed. She wondered about it at first: was it real? Should she do as it says? Then, she found that what it told her to do would be much easier than anything else.
Slowly she raised her eyes, the image of the kitchen bellow melting out of view as the blurred image of this kitchen, the one she was standing in, became clearer and clearer. She stared directly at Julio, for the first time since he let her in, despite the fact that he had found a sudden fascination in studying her shoes. She stared into his eyes, although they were directed elsewhere, as if daring them to show something to make her change her mind. To show that the voice in her head was lying, that he did care about her, that he didn't want her to leave. But they did not. So she continued with her resolution, turning slightly to make it easier.
However, if she hadn't have looked away at that moment she would have seen Julio look up quickly, his green eyes laced with everything deep down she wanted to see. But, she did look away, and she did not see his eyes.
She sighed deeply, filling the silence that it seemed had gone on forever. She had to do it now. She didn't know how long she had stood there just thinking already, but it had to stop now. So, taking a deep breath, she pushed all her mangled thoughts from her mind and did what she knew she had to do. Well, at least she thought she had to do.
"Okay."
As the word left her lips she turned around completely, just in time to miss Julio's shocked eyes sudden jerk upwards. She walked to the door without looking back once at the shy Spaniard. Not at his eyes, which she had found herself lost in many times, nor his brown shaggy hair her fingers had enjoyed being wrapped in.
As she exited the apartment she knew that she would never see him again, and that knowledge brought along with it a dull ache in her chest. One she had never felt before.
By the time she reached the stairs the dull ache had grown to a sharp pain that made it hard to breathe. It was at that second that she realized that she shouldn't have listened to the voice, no matter how much easier she thought it would be. Even though it may have been true that Julio didn't care about her, it was an absolute lie that she had told herself when she said she didn't care about him.
At that moment September knew she loved Julio.
