by Samantha Stephens
My heart is somewhere in my throat acting like a champagne cork to stop the sound sliding out. This situation could have had a million different endings, but the one where I have to apologise was always going to be the worst. I watch his lips in anticipation, hoping he is chivalrous enough to let me avoid my struggle, to know that he is making me surrender my last remaining ounces of pride. His lips part and his tongue slithers out, wetting his bottom lip like it always does when he’s really mad. Then his eyebrows rise and it is like they have commanded his tongue to return to its hiding place. I imagine them falling again as I walk away.
Samantha Stephens, who blogs here, is a third year student of Creative Writing and English Literature at Edge Hill University.