Stay

He picked up the empty take-out containers and headed for the door. “Uh, where are you going?” She asked, pointing at the garbage can by the TV console, “The trash can is right there.”

“Oh, um, there’s a trash can on my way down. I have to head out for a bit. I’ll be right back though. So don’t leave.”

“Why?” She asked.

He sighed and acted like explaining the reason would drain all his energy. “Because I don’t know how much control you have over yourself. You know, emotions and otherwise.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” She snapped, balling her fists.

He shook his head, “You know what, forget it. Just stay and don’t leave. I’ll be back before you know it.” He opened the door, stepped across the threshold, and glanced at her once more, “Stay.”

Who does he think I am? She thought angrily as she stood by the window and watched his car pull out of the parking lot. No one makes my decisions but me and I’m certainly ain’t staying in this dingy hellhole of a motel. She slipped into a pair of flats and headed for the door.

Originally written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner, published on May 30, 2016.