delusion

It broke, but it wasn't his fault. He found it that way - laying there, useless, next to the tools I intended to use to fix it.
At first, he didn't even seem to notice.

"Wow, this is really cool. Why aren't you using it?", he asked.

I mumbled through a brief explanation of exactly how and why it didn't work anymore. I reminisced awhile on how nice it had been before.
Before all this.
He held it in his hands and considered it's flaws. There were many.

"Can I have it?", he asked anyway.

A quick wave of terror and embarassment passed through my stomach and reddened my face.

"No....no. Let me fix it first, then I'll give it to you, if you still want it then."

He looked momentarily disappointed but he seemed to understand my logic. After all, it is rather uncouth to give away our broken and discarded things as gifts.
But then, he stood there for too long, turned it over in his hands too many times. I got scared. The last time someone held it in their rough palms, well...you know what happened to it then.

"Will you fucking stop that?", I snapped.

Too loudly, too rudely. The words reverberated in his wounded gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that", I should have said.

Should have. But, never did.
He tossed it, carelessly, back to where he had found it. I heard it crack again.

"I thought you wanted it?"

"You said I couldn't have it."

Good point.

"You broke it.", I shouldn't have said.

Shouldn't have, but did.

"No, it was already broken when I got here"

I swept the pieces , gingerly, into a cupped palm as he turned his back to walk away. He paused at the doorway - turned around to look at me one last time.
He looked so handsome, his hair was so perfectly combed.
Like a fist to the gut, I realized, he hadn't combed it so stylishly for me.

I closed my fist around the broken shards just to feel my fingers bleed.

"I was going to fix it, you know.", I spat.

And as he walked away he whispered, "Yeah, that's what I thought too."