Five Clicks

Author's Notes: This is my first time writing and posting here at Writing.com, even though I set up this account ages ago. The writing below was from a prompt found here: "Write a story in which exactly five different things go 'click'."

I’ve checked your phone. You left the phone. It’s your fault. It’s simple enough to turn it on. One little button and...

-click-

The screen lights up and I see the messages. They are right there. You must have powered off looking at them. You wanted me to find them. You wanted me to read those betraying words. I think I knew. Now that I know, I think I already knew. I need a smoke.

-click-

The flame from my lighter shakes as I light the cigarette. Damn my hands. Damn my heart breaking. Damn you and your fucking lovers. I’m not calmed by the drag of the cigarette. You never let me smoke in the apartment. I take another deep drag of it, as if that will somehow anger you even though you aren’t there. Your cell phone is still in front of me. The messages are glaring up at me. I refuse to cry over a fucking asshole.

-click-

I press down the button on the kettle. My mother would make me tea. Whenever anyone was upset she would put on tea. The cigarette leaves nothing but ash in my mouth. The kettle takes too long to boil. I yank the power cord so hard that the kettle tips over and warm water spills over the counter top. You would yell at me if you were home ... or maybe not. Maybe you would go to the arms of the other woman. Maybe I am not worth your anger. I hate myself for crying; for sinking to the floor and not bothering to clean up the mess. It’s your mess now.

-click-

The top of my bag has a clasp that clips as I snap it into place. I haven’t taken time to think about what I am packing. I just need to be gone by the time you get back. I will find out later that I did not pack any underwear, that my favourite shirt is still in the top drawer and that I will need more shoes then the runners currently on my feet. Right now I can barely see through my tears. The weight of the back is heavy where it cuts across my shoulder. I pass the mess I made in the kitchen. I pass the cell phone which is trying to save itself by turning to a black screen. I pause as I pass and think of breaking it. Instead I just walk out the front door. It closes softly behind me.

-click-