“You want to know why Benny?” Shaylah called behind her as she dragged yet another heavy bag through the hall, out the front door and to the boot of her silver, 1991 Honda Civic. Benny follows her out, hands not knowing what do do and words even more useless.
“It’s because you take everything so, so, so – literatim!” She pushes past him, back into the house and into their bedroom. “Not everything is about following rules. Not everything is as simple as that! Good god, are you just going to stand there?”
Benny makes a chocking sound. His mother, afterall, told him that people are in charge of their own actions. He couldn’t actually stop Shayla even if he tried!
“Seriously, after four years!” She shakes her head and grabs the last of her things; tears and mascara painting her cheeks. “I thought I could make this work. I really wanted it to work. But I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired Benny, so tired of doing it all.”
He follows her through the hall, for the last time and watches as she slides into the drivers seat and slams the door.
“Any last word?” Shayla says as she winds down her window. “God, Benny, this is low. Even for you.”
Agressively, she winds the window back up and with shaking hands puts her key into the ignition. As her car ignites into action, and rubber on tarmac echoes through the night, Benny fights ever ounce of his literatim ways and scream “Wait, Shayla, I love you.”
Two minutes (Four years) too late.