Chris Breslin

The Last Glass

She imagined string quartets. Sunsets. Storms. Her eyes were cast down over her morning coffee. As she watched the milk droplet cause clouds in the mug she hung her spoon over it contemplating. She had nothing to say. She wished she'd woken up alone. She wished she was alone. It should never have gotten this far and she was truly sorry for that at least, but she didn't feel sorry. She just felt... like she couldn't feel yet. 'Don't.'
'I was just...'
'I know, but don't. Please.' She lowered two lumps of sugar into her coffee and watched them turn brown. She didn't need music, or the weather. 'Do you want something to eat?'
'No, thanks.'
'I could get you some toast?'
'I'm fine.' She knew she should have been explaining herself. Again. She knew she should be feeling more guilt, even. She couldn't bring herself to that, yet. 'Well I'm making myself some.'
'You sure you don't want any?'
'What is it?'
'I cut my foot.' She looked askance down at the floor. There were still a few tiny shards catching the light. 'I changed my mind.'
'Turn the radio on.'
'Oh, I thought you meant...'
'No, I just meant the radio.' She knew she was being harsh, but she just wanted this all to be behind her , a memory. She wasn't ready to be a mother yet. She wasn't ready for any of that. She didn't feel like she'd done anything wrong, but he wouldn't understand that. He couldn't. She just needed to look after herself. It hadn't been planned. It wasn't time. The nightmare of the previous night was still shaking her but it had already been said.