Never really the end

Today's 100 words, a continuation of sorts:

Like some kind of trained pet, I was always available when you called, even after we were no longer a we, even when there was no longer anything holding the two of us together. And on that last day of the semester when your car broke down fifty miles from the college as you were traveling home, you called me, knowing I would come, and I rushed to your rescue, even though I had my own packing to do and my own plans.

It was so hard to learn to live without you when you were always there.

Nearly the end

This morning's 100 words:

 

You came over for dinner that night--reluctantly, although I didn't realize it then. I'd made something special, probably chicken with rice, the only meal I had ever really attempted to cook in my small apartment kitchen; like you, I subsisted mainly on fast food, chips, and visits to the college cafeteria. I remember that you walked in, late, and sat on the floor next to the coffee table. The food was already cold; I'd called you early, but you'd taken a long time to arrive. The food wasn't all that had grown cold--but I didn't know that yet.