Taryn has been thinking about this for a long time. Keye is a sweetheart, no one could possibly deny this. But that's when he's not emotional. That's when he's not begging her--not with words, he seems to be afraid to, but with his eyes and his actions--to help him, to mend him, to support him.

It's wearing.

She can't do it anymore. It isn't that she doesn't like him, it isn't that there's anything wrong with him--only it is--it's just that she can't keep supporting him without any kind of reciprocatory support.

Maybe, someday... when he's grown up.

Now the hard part.

Telling him.

She's asked him to meet her in the park. It seems a fitting thing, to end where they met, but she can't remember quite which bench. Still, the park. Late afternoon, after all her classes are over.

She's sitting a little way away from him, jean-clad knees drawn up to her chest, gloved hands clasped, the hood of her coat over her hair.

"Keye?"

"Yes?"
He sits down and smiles honestly into her eyes.
He's utterly oblivious, of course, and therefore isn't going to make this easy for her.
He puts his arms over the back of the bench and looks up at the sky, breathing deeply. His voice is a little softer than it usually is, almost timid, but other than that, he doesn't seem in any way troubled. In fact, he seems singularly unfettered this evening.
Poor Taryn.
"...you were singing when I came here."

"I remember."

How in the world do you bring something like this up, Taryn would like to know. Anyone want to give her lessons on how to break up with a guy who's really sweet, but really difficult to stay with?

"Keye... have you ever thought about the future?"

It's a start.

"Well, sure."
Not a lot, is the more truthful answer. Keye has always lived day-to-day, and it's difficult to adjust to an existance where he has the luxury to look ahead.
"I mean, I guess I'd like to teach some day."
A roguish grin.
"Settle down, have a couple of guitar shops in lieu of children..."

"I kind of meant, our future."

Or lack thereof.

This is hard. He's not making it easy. She had a resolution ten minutes ago, what happened?

"Oh...I--uh..." he flushes, twisting his hands. "I, er, no, not really. I mean, I hadn't thought about--but that doesn't mean I wouldn't...I mean, if somed--uh. No. I just...you know. I'm happy when I'm with you."
He has no idea what he's doing.

No. He doesn't. Neither does she.

"I know.. and most of the time, I'm happy when I'm with you, but..."

There's always a but. It usually precedes something painful.

Keye doesn't freeze, exactly. He just sort of...stops. He becomes very, very still, not so much like he's holding himself that way as like his inner clockwork just ran down. He doesn't slump, though. And although his smile disappears, the transition is not visible on his face.
"...but?"

"But it's hard, because you need so much helping. And it's not that I mind helping, it's just, it's hard, and I can't do it all the time, but I have to, if I'm with you, and..."

Pause. The flow of words stops as suddenly as it began, and now she's not sure how to say what she wants to say again. This is a problem, because where she left off is not a good place to leave off.

"And I guess I'm trying to say that... I can't go out with you anymore."

"You can't?" he says blankly. "Why not?"
And then he comprehends everything she just said.
"I...uh, nnn...oh."
He opens and shuts his mouth, utter confusion settling into his features.
He makes a halfhearted attempt to save it, although (and this really hurts) he can see right where she's coming from.
"Baby, I...can change. I can--am. And...and I am, I'm working...I'm trying so hard, and I swear..."
His gaze falls to his hands, resting in his lap, curled tightly together.
"Oh, Taryn."

"I know. Believe me, I know. It's just... You haven't, yet, and I can't do this anymore. Maybe, later, when you can help yourself and don't need me to help you all the time, but not now. Not now."

She's beginning to cry. She hates hurting people. She really hates it. In a very real way, hurting someone else hurts her, and so she tries to avoid it at all costs. But this cost is too high. She's got to do something for herself for once.

It just... She just wishes it didn't need to be this.

"Shhh."
Half-forgetting that she just broke up with him, he reaches out to brush the tears from her face.
"I get it, I think. I...know. " his hand, trembling as it always does, rests lightly on the side of her face. "You don't have to cry about it. "
Then, as if suddenly remembering, he takes his hand back and clasps it with his other, pressing his lips tightly together. He is upset--very upset. It does hurt. But he's trying as best he can not to show it, because he doesn't want her to hurt because of it. Because she's right. She's absolutely right.
"I...I...do you want me to walk you home, or...? I mean, if you weren't done talking, we can still sit, or...I...I dunno, I mean, I'm not trying to get rid of you, I just am thinkin' you prolly don't wanna sit here any...more...and, I...I dunno."
That's another nasty side effect of breaking up. You don't know a nice gesture from totally inappropriate anymore.

"That would be nice."

She smiles through the tears and stands up.

"I do want to go home."

And cry.

He moves as if to take her arm, as he always does, but thinks better of it at the last moment. He puts both his hands into his pockets, and begins to walk slowly, humming under his breath. Every few moments, he interrupts himself by clearing his throat or sighing, or muttering "I...uh..."
He wants to say something.
But he can't get up the courage, and he doesn't actually know what it is.

"Yes?"

She's not going to start being rude to him just because she can't deal with him as a boyfriend anymore. She's not going to stop being kind to him, or helping if she can. Just...

Not as his girlfriend.

At least, that's the plan. If things start to head back to 'relationship status,' she may ask him to leave her alone for a while. But that's in the future.

"I...don't know..." he mumbles brokenly, wringing his hands. "I can't think. I wanted...I wanted to tell you, I...uh...I'm not going to do anything stupid this time."
He clears his throat uncomfortably, and clarifies.
"I mean, I am not going to kill myself. God, that sounds silly when I say it right out, but I...thought I should tell you."

... oh god. She hadn't thought of that. Probably should have, given his track record--how many suicide attempts, or serious consideration thereof, has she seen from him?

"I'm glad."

She really, really is.

One or two. Maybe even three. And that's only since she's known him.

"Oh...okay. Th...I, uh, there was another...thing."
He's starting to feel twitchy and miserable, and at this point, he really, really wants to just be home.
"God, I miss you." he shakes his head. "But that's not it."

"What is it, then?"

She's being patient. She can be patient. She can do this.

But she is going to spend quite a while crying when she gets back to her dorm room, and has a chance to be alone.

Funny, Keye has the exact same plan. He'll probably spend a while crying with his guitar, though. Might as well be productive with misery (is it just me, or is that a new philosophy...?).

"It's...uh..."
What is it? What is it? He can't think.

"Uhhhhh..."
Long, long pause.
"Oh yeah. Thanks."

"For?"

She's a tad confused.

Keye looks shifty and uncomfortable, because he isn't sure of the answer.
"You know...just...whatever." he waves an arm in a clumsy sort of all-encompassing gesture.

"... oh."

She is still confused.

And is it just her, or is it very strange indeed to walk without holding hands, or without his arm around her and her head tucked into his shoulder, or anything else they might have done while actually being... 'together'?

It's not just her. It's very, very strange, because now that Keye knows how neatly she fits there, her hand in his, or her head on his shoulder, the fact that she isn't there makes him feel rather...off-balance.

"I'm sorry. I mean. I don't know how to say." he says haltingly. "Don't take this the wrong way, please. I just...don't feel like I'm bleeding to death."

"... actually? that's good. Because you shouldn't be."

In more ways than one. Er. Sorry.

"I don't want you to feel like that over me." Because then they'd both be bleeding to death, because how could she stand having done something like that to him?

"I mean," he rambles on, "I thought for sure I would. For a second, I thought I did feel that way. I expected to. But I don't. I don't feel good, but...you know. But at the bottom of a well instead of buried alive."
He's still going to go home and cry for a long, long time, though.

I guess that means he's slightly more sane than he used to be?

"I understand."

Softly. Gently.

"Thank you."
A smile. Faint, very faint. Almost real.

And here we are. At the door. Relief (soon, he can be alone with himself) and misery (she's gone!) meet cataclysmically in his chest, and he tilts forward, a hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes.
A moment later, he's regained control.
"Uh...'bye, then."
No eloquence.

"Bye..."

Pause.

"I'll call and see how you're doing in a couple days, okay?"

And she's gone. That was just as she was going through the door.