Make Me Regret

"You're asking me.. to leave you?" I asked uncertainly, and I did not get much of where this conversation was going. For an immeasurable length of time, we had been talking about the same thing, never able understand what the other was trying to say.1

"No," he said firmly, taking me by the shoulders. "I'm asking you - no, telling you, to make me regret." He looked in my eyes fiercely, willing me to comprehend. He looked at me in the same way that always made me afraid that he was angry at me, in the way that made me wonder what he was thinking. I became aware of just how close we were, closer than we had been in a long time. "Make me regret, Teresa. Make me regret ever having hurt you the way I did, and do the same to me. Make me regret so much that I will never be unfaithful again - make me fall to my knees and beg you not to leave. For as long as you want, I will stand here, and listen to you rant about how much I wronged you, hit me if you like. Punish me, Teresa, teach me a lesson I damn well deserve." He finished and stared at me, trying to anticipate my reaction.2

My breathing came in short gasps, and my chest felt heavy. I looked back at him and all I wanted to do was cry. I wanted to lean against him and pound my fists against his chest. I didn't want to yell at him, but I wanted to just scream and yell incoherent nothings.3

And so I did. For minutes, I stood there with my head buried in his chest, crying and hitting him with what little strength I had left, before I just shut up and relaxed, nearly falling.4

He caught me before I slid down, and both of us were the two who regretted everything the most. I had not hurt him, I had not yelled at him - I did not have enough power to hate him, but I also knew that this was what hurt him the most.