She Cries

I see you take a good look as she walks through the door.  You’re surprised to see her in here again, aren’t you.  After what happened.

As she makes her way up to the bar she can feel the eyes on her.  Nobody can believe that she’s really here.  They never thought she’d have the courage to face anyone again.

The bar staff know what she drinks, and prepare it with quickness and efficiency.  As she hands over the money you look for a tremble in her hand or something else to show that she’s nervous or uneasy in her surroundings.  You are disappointed.  The hand stays as steady as ever and the smile doesn’t falter.  As she turns towards the vacant seat at the table your eyes meet.  She nods a hello in your direction, then walks over and sits down.

By now the noise of the bar is riding over your head.  That glance she threw you for those few seconds, there was something wrong with all this, something very unreal.  There was no pain in her eyes, only the look of freedom and happiness.  And that was unnerving.

As you watch her it becomes more and more dreamlike.  She listens intently to the conversation, smiling and laughing as if she has no cares, no burdens, no hidden pain.  Somebody calls to her that it is her turn on the pool table.  She shares a private joke with her tablemates, then goes to play her game.

How can she be this calm?  You hurt her so badly.  You hadn’t meant to, it had just turned out that way.  Then she had been a former shadow of herself, an emotional wreck.  All the lies you had told her had finally broken her will.  Yet, just four months later, that wreck was here and acting as if it had never happened.  She looked so good, the way she had looked when you had been going out with her.  And that hurt you.

The game finished.  Her the loser, and yet somehow also the victor.  She puts her cue back in its case and then walks back to the bar.  Next to you.

I’m still watching you and I can see she’s getting to you.  There may be no pain in her eyes, but you can’t see her heart, the shattered fragments like splintered glass.  You also can’t see her mind, bitter and twisted, seeking revenge.

You don’t know it yet, but she’s going to make you suffer.  She’s going to hurt you more than you ever hurt her.  You’re going to feel pain like you never knew existed.  Because there’s something else you can’t see.  You just see the show.  You don’t see the private pain, the pain that tonight is sitting on the sidelines, watching and tasting the sweetness of revenge.  By the end of the night you too will be crying.

You will be left in no doubt that she and I still cry.

[Author’s Note]: Some people leave scars that don’t fade — but eventually, you learn to trace them into something stronger. This piece came from a place of betrayal that was personal, complicated, and cruel. I wrote it to reclaim the moment — not with shouting, but with silence sharpened to a knife edge.
For anyone who’s ever had to walk back into a room, smile, and mean none of it.