Tiny Beads

He jabbed his finger at his wrist, pointing to a small beaded bracelet. "It's a fucking lie, isn't it?"
He pointed to the white bead "that's not me" then to a red "that's not you" then to a green one "and that's not Maine, and it never was." he laughed caustically "it's always been a lie"

I sat on the bed, cowed by how awfully close to the truth he was. Not that I'd tell him. Not that he'd really know. I hadn't wanted to mess things up like this. I'd known before that it was probably a bad idea to get deeper into a relationship with someone who clearly had a lot on his mind. His plate was full, but maybe I thought I could help clear it...maybe I really did, but more likely all I did was give second helpings with gravy. I thought I knew what I was doing, was never afraid or uncertain further than a shallow level. Not even when I thought I was pregnant.

That problem had weighed realistically in my heart in a way I'd never felt but at that age there wasn't a choice that seemed plausible. I knew what I'd do and I'd do it more or less as in a dream. Watching without really taking in that it was happening to me.
I wasn't pregnant, but after that things broke down worse than ever. We'd never had a future anyway, there was so much fighting. His jealousy, my selfishness. I knew what was needed when I needed it, acting out the part when I knew he needed me. I'd gotten used to dis-attaching from emotion-can't get in too deep with someone so emotional. Someone has to be the clear head, the calm one, the rational one. That kind of distance doesn't lend itself to deep love, and I did want to love him. All of them.

I guess it was an experiment. A wait-and-see. Maybe I would fall in love this time, probably I wouldn't. The rush was there and it was real. Didn't last.
So he finally figured it out and from the look in his eyes I'd say he's angry but not that surprised.
"This is bullshit" he yells. I formulate a rebound argument, one that'll shut him up, make him at fault. It's a good one: calm, rational and there's nothing he can argue against. I still sit on the bed, arms wrapped around my legs, mouth shut now that that word of right is out. He stands watching me for a beat, then he yanks at the bracelet, which breaks easily and tiny beads spray around the floor. He catches my eye and I recognize this as a good time to shut up. There's nothing real to say anyway. He's right and I won't admit to anything. He'll leave and I'll move out having never seen the red or white or green beads again. Not that I'd looked.