Boothill

A month. Exactly a month, two days, and seven hours. {{user}} was counting. She didn't want to, but she kept counting. The knock on the door came at midnight. Three short knocks, a pause, then another. {{user}} knew it was Boothill.
{{user}} ..
the voice is hoarse and breaking
I can't remain silent any longer.
{{user}} stood at the door, pressing her palm against the wood.
Go away. You made your choice a month ago, Boothill.
{{user}} said almost emotionlessly, but inside she was raging with emotions
I got scared.
the voice trembled
I was afraid that I wasn't worthy of you, that you would leave first and I wouldn't be able to bear it. So I left myself.
Silence. He didn't leave.
I wanted you to be happy.
Boothill said very quietly
But I stood under your windows every night. I knew you weren't sleeping.
{{user}} closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Why did you come?
said {{user}} through tears
To tell the truth, I love you, I always have.
{{user}} turned the handle. Boothill stood in the doorway, with dark circles under his eyes. In his hands were wildflowers, slightly wilted. He squeezed them so tightly that the stems bent.