Unspoken

He sits across from her on the round dining room table, his plate of cereal still full, the milk turning brown from the chocolate Rice Krispies that were slowly becoming soggy. He doesn’t touch his cereal, while she eats hers slowly. The room is a mess. There are cracks on the dry-board wall. There are broken chairs in the corners. The delicate china cupboard is smashed completely, with only a few surviving delicate cups in their place. The floor is littered with bits and pieces of porcelain from the less fortunate cups.

She doesn’t want to talk about it; he does. She can talk about it, he can’t. She has the words for it, he doesn’t. She knows who did it, he doesn’t. He wants to know, she doesn’t want him to know. He wasn’t there to stop it. She tried to stop it, but was overpowered.

“Who the hell did it…” He whispers to himself.

“Please, just drop it.” She whispers to him, her face as rigid and cold as a stone.

“We can go to the police. We should.” He says to her. “Just tell me who did it.”

“No.” She whispers, continuing to eat her cereal. “It doesn’t matter, he’s gone now. It happened, and I’d rather forget it.”

It’s past six in the evening, the clock on the wall says so. She opens her eyes, distant and cold. His eyes are red and watered. She holds back her tears while his flow freely.

“I don’t want to forget it, I want justice!” He says, his voice shaking with rage. “He’s still out there. We can stop him, have him thrown in jail, where he can have a taste of his own medicine!”

“He won’t do it to anyone else.” Her voice wavers. “He won’t… it’ll be OK. Just drop it.”

“He did it to you, what makes you think he won’t do it to others?” He says as he straightens himself, his eyes burning with hatred. He sits upright on his chair, a dark scowl on his face, his fists clenched so tightly his nails burrow into his palms, drawing blood. “When I find out who it was, I’ll kill him.”

“Just drop it!” And her tears finally come out. She covers her face and hunches over her plate, crying, as her tears fall upon the wooden table. “I just want to forget it ever happened…”

He wants to know who did it. She won’t tell him. She wants him to tell her everything will be OK. He can’t say that. What needs to be said remains unspoken.