I'm Done, I'm Done

I stood there, awestruck. The shattered glass had hit two feet to my right, but hadn't touched me. Sam was staring down at his hands, looking like he didn't know where they had came from. I took a step back, and put my hand against the wall of our apartment.

"Miriam-" Sam started.

"No." I turned and walked into the bedroom. I grabbed my duffel bag from the closet and started dumping the first things my hands snatched up into it. I heard footsteps coming closer, but didn't look up from what I was doing. A slow groan came from the door as it was opened.

"Miriam, please, I didn't mean-" Sam moved closer to me.

"Get the hell away from me. Get the - my god, where is my wallet?" I started to zip up my bag. After some doing, I threw it over my shoulder, and headed out of the bedroom, toward the front door. A hand caught my shoulder.

"Miriam, baby, please. I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me. It's was just a little fight. Come on, baby, put the bag down. You know you'll regret leaving tomorrow morning." Sam motioned to get my bag, but I jerked away from him, my blood starting to boil. '

"I'll regret leaving? Sam, no. I'll regret staying with you this long. I'll regret letting you stand that close to my vase, but no, baby, I won't regret leaving. You've given me nothing but complete and total shit for the last six months and I'm done. I'm done dealing with your mood swings and fits of uncontrollable anger. I'm done with your excuses and I'm done with your partying. Have fun being lonely, douchebag." I ran out the door, mumbling I'm done, I'm done down the stairs, hearing someone call my name a floor above me, wondering why I hadn't done this ages ago.