# Anon And Fang - Dude Weren't You Married

Title: Anon And Fang - Dude Weren't You Married?
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
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I stand there, keys held limply in my hand, the door still closed in front of me. The longer I stand here, the longer I can pretend everything is okay on the other side of that door, the longer I can keep things together. An errant thought crosses my mind, of getting back in the car and driving away, away from the hell that I’ve created for myself. But I know it will find me, sooner or later. Better to face it now.
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The ley turns, the door opens, the universe passes on, totally uncaring. The slow mechanical nature of life mocks me in my moment of tragedy. I can her here, in this house that we made together. Hear her getting ready to leave. The slam of a door. The sniffle of a nose. The rolling of a suitcase. Closer. Here.
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Fang stands before me, eyes puffy and red, claws digging into her arm as she wheels a suitcase – OUR suitcase – behind her. She doesn’t say anything, standing there in front of me. I don’t know if she’s waiting for me to say something first. If she wants me to.
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“Fang, I…” The words come out choked. My keys fall onto the table by the entrance. A picture of us hangs on the wall, our happiness mocking me.
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“Don’t, Anon. Just don’t.” Fang’s voice is quiet, raspy. Evidence she’s been crying, evidence she’s been screaming. I know these things. She was screaming at me. Drawing a shuddering breath, Fang composes herself. “I’m going to my mom’s for a day or two. I’ll take the bus.” She tries to push past me in the entryway. I don’t dare move aside.
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“Fang, please, let’s just talk about this.” I know how this is going to go. I’ve said it before, and it didn’t work then. Why would I think it would work now? “If we can just talk about this, maybe-“
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“Maybe we can what?” Her voice is next to shouting now, snapping from resentment to anger in a flash. “Maybe we can pretend nothing happened, that you didn’t totally humiliate me today? How could you, Anon?” Back down, a hiss between clenched teeth. It’s dangerous. “You know how I feel about that, and to find it just there, that you hid it away from me? Do you know how that makes me feel, do you understand what I felt? Jesus fuck Anon, it feels like you love her more than me, and she isn’t even fucking real!” Shouting again. I should be glad the hiss is gone.
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“No, Fang, please, you don’t understand! I don’t feel that way, I promise!” A lie. We both know it for what it is.
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“Then what do you feel, Anon? Yesterday, we, we agree to see someone, and now this?! Were you just pretending before, just pretending to want to work at it? God I can’t believe you!” Fresh tears begin to spill from her cheeks. Somewhere, a baby is crying, outside in the hall. The door is still open. But not for long.
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“No, Fang, really I DO want to work on this, please! I love you babe, I promise.” She lets me hug her, my face buried in her hair. She does not hug back. I hang on, wishing, desperately wishing, that I could stop her. “Please say it back, babe. Please say it.” Pleading now.
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A long moment passes before she moved me away, not unkindly. “I love you too, Anon. But I have to go.” Words stilted, face composed, eyes crying. Fang moves past me now, my body too numb to stop her. The suitcase rolls on, out of the apartment. She pauses in the doorway. “I’ll text you later.” I don’t bother to respond. She doesn’t bother to wait for one.
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For the third time that week, and the second time alone, I cry.