Picking Up The Relationship Trash

“"Olivia, we need to break up." I said the words quietly. We were sitting on the couch we' d picked out together two years ago. Instead of concern, she laughed, thinking it was a joke because she forgot almond milk. Then her phone buzzed. It was Liam. Again. "Can we not do this right now? It's Liam. He needs me." It was always Liam. On our anniversary, the night my grandmother died. He always had a crisis only Olivia could solve. He arrived less than twenty minutes later, looking pale and distressed. He saw me, and his voice, laced with fake vulnerability, faltered. "Olivia said you guys were having a talk. I can go if this is a bad time. I just... I had another panic attack." He looked at Olivia, playing the victim, making me the bad guy. I' d seen this a hundred times: the late-night calls, the fabricated emergencies. I felt a snap inside me. "You' re always having a panic attack, Liam," I blurted. "You strategically dismantle. You make sure you are always the priority." Liam recoiled, his face crumbling. Olivia' s face hardened, disappointment aimed squarely at me. "Noah, stop it. You know he struggles. How can you be so cruel?" She moved to Liam' s side, placing a protective arm around him. She was comforting him. From me. My heart dissolved. I was the outsider. "I' m tired of coming in second place to him. I' m tired of being the bad guy for wanting a partner, not a part-time caregiver for your friend." I grabbed my bag. As I walked out, Olivia' s voice, thick with disbelief, followed me. "You' re really leaving? Over this? You' re just going to throw everything away because you' re jealous?" I stopped but didn' t turn. "It was already thrown away, Liv. I' m just the one finally picking up the trash." I closed the door.”