I watched her walk away.

She made her way up the three stairs and rounded the corner.

I didn't see her again after that.

I stood there, inherently hoping that I would catch a glimpse of her. The edge of her shirt sleeve, a corner of her broad back, an errant lock of her hair. Anything would have served to fulfill my foolish wish.

I received nothing. Not even the faintest whisper of black boots against the ground, not the rasp of her messenger bag against her pants.

Nothing.

I stood there like a dim wit and waited, thinking that maybe she had forgotten something or that she was joking. I knew she hadn't. She loved a joke or jab, but this had been too serious a matter for her to joke about.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't say anything.

I just stood there.

My eyes were rooted at that one point were she disappeared. I just couldn't look away.

After an eternity and a half, I managed to jerkily force my body to move. The silence and the emptiness of the quad became too much for me. I snatched up my backpack and left.

I walked to the garage, up the flight of stairs, past the rows of cars. I stopped next to my car, staring at the keys that were in my hand. They were shaking. I crammed them back into my pocket and walked over to the edge. I leaned over the top of the cement barrier that separated me from three stories worth of air space.

The sky was overcast with patches of sunny. I stood there and soaked up what warmth I could. I was so damned cold.

The anger came then.

I was raised to turn to anger. I was taught that anger was the only emotion that could be expressed. Anger was always the first thing that came from me.

That barrier took the brunt of my anger.

I hit it over and over again, angry at myself, at her, at everything. Angry that I couldn't cry.

I wanted to.

I wanted to let go, to hold on, to do something.

So, I drove. I drove to the park and went to the creek.

I sat on a wet log and threw stones into the creek, thinking, feeling, hurting.

I thought about the things she had told me before she had left, of her eyes as she looked at me, of her tears as they escaped from her grasp.

I thought of the times we had spent with each other, of the talks that we had had, of the touches that we had shared.

I thought about nothing.

I had a meeting that I was supposed to attend, a club meeting. I was the president and I had to be there.

So, I went back.

The meeting was like any other meeting. The advisor informed that I had done a good job. We had pictures taken by the chief editor of the newspaper. The Treasurer and the Secretary carried out their duties beyond what was asked of them. We played a game and we left.

The chief editor asked about her. I told her what had happened. She offered her condolences. I was given a spiel about people our age not capable of loving, being selfish, conceited. I silenced her by telling her twenty six years didn't belong in her line of reasoning.

I was left with the beverages and the food. An Asian man came in and asked for free food and drink. I readily gave them to him. I just didn't care.

Work was the same as always. I processed papers and put up with cute faces that were too cheerful for my tastes. I had to stop by the bathroom a few times. The doors to the stalls bore the brunt of my anger.

I returned home and did what I do everyday.

I feel asleep with my nose buried in a shirt that smelled like her.

I saw her again the next day.

We had promised each other that we would remain friends. I went to her house and we watched a movie, just the two of us.

She told me that she thought I didn't care. That she couldn't read me.

That hurt.

I almost cried then.

She had told me that before, that she wasn't used to asking people what they were thinking or how they were feeling. She had never met someone she couldn't take cues from. She didn't know what to do.

This time though, this time, it hurt.

I told her that that was how I dealt with things, that I had been brought up to show nothing. She was unnerved.

It hurt when she said that she felt like she liked me more than I liked her, by the way that she read me. I castigated myself for not being able to let go, for not allowing her to read me.

We had lunch later with two of her friends. I drove the both of us there and we grilled meat on an indoor grill. She wanted one for her place. I wanted to make her one.

At one point, she asked me if I would be angry if she changed her mind.

I wanted her to.

But I said yes.

We separated after than, her friends going off, leaving us to stare at each other.

We tried to joke around, to make things seem like they had with we had first met. I tried, really I did. I just couldn't do it.

We decided to head to her work place.

She sat herself on the passenger side and pulled me to her. I stood between her strong legs, like I had done so many times before. It was hard, not kissing her. I kept my hands in my pockets, balled into fists.

She looked so sad when I pulled away.

We drove to her workplace and sat in the car. She wanted to talk. I didn't.

She asked me my favorite color. I asked if black counted. She said no. I said blue.

She asked me my favorite food. I told her I didn't have one.

She asked me my favorite song. I had to think for a long time before I answered. I said 'This War is Over'. She said that she didn't know that one. I told her that I didn't think she knew, because she didn't like Melissa Etheridge. I told her about the first time that I had heard that song. She just smiled.

She asked me about my favorite position. I just raised my brow. She clarified and asked me what my favorite position to fuck. I told her up against the wall. She asked me what was a favorite when I was getting fucked. I wanted to say on my back with her on top. I said that it never happened enough for me to know.

It was hard, not touching her. I leaned against my door, my keys in my hands. I wanted to reach over and brush her hair out of her eyes. I wanted to run my fingers across the soft skin of her cheek. I wanted to cup my hands around her face.

She left for work, leaving me sitting and staring at the seat that she had been in. I took in a deep breath, taking in her scent. I loved the way she smelled.

Somehow, I managed to get the car started and I drove away.

I was stopped at the traffic light, behind several cars. I turned to look at her.

She was sitting on the steps, staring at me. I knew she couldn't see me. She was biting her lip, like she always did right before she would start crying. Someone stopped and asked if she was okay. I don't know what she said, but she nodded her head.

I wanted to wrap my arms around her, to make everything okay, to kiss away her tears. Instead, I called her cell phone with mine.

She didn't answer.

I drove off.

Later that afternoon, she called and asked if I had called her. I said yes. She asked me what for. I wanted to say that I felt like I was empty, that she was the only person who could make the cold go away. Instead, I told her that I had seen her crying and had wondered if she was alright. I nearly bit though my lip when she said no. But, she told me, she would live.

I wanted to ask her if living was enough.

We said goodbye. I waited until the disconnect tone rang in my ear. I shivered as I walked home, her words ringing in my head.

She had told me before, that she felt safe with me, that if anything were to go wrong, I would be there to fix it. She said that she didn't expect me to actually fix things, just that she felt safe.

I was angry at myself because I couldn't fix this, us. Angry that I couldn't meet my perception of her expectation of me. Angry that I had let her down.

I felt empty, cold, and drowning as her words rang in my head.

I think I'm in trouble. I think I'm falling for you. Can you tell me what to do?

I want her to take her words back, to be us again, to fix this, to hold her and kiss away her tears. I want a millions things. I want what I can't have.

I feel the unfamiliar sting of tears in my eyes as I'm writing this. They refuse to fall. And I have promised her that I would try to come up with something. I feel stupid, asinine, angry, depressed, broken, cold.

I think I'm in trouble.

Because I know I've fallen for you.