bees

The headache feels like bees drilling into my skull.

His hand's on the doorknob. My fingers snake around his wrist.

"Stay?" I plead.

He faces the wall, my hand falls limply. I see his reflection in the mirror, light eyes in agony.

"I shouldn't've--"

My head tips back, wasps buzzing. Thunder cracks outside. The window is leaking.

My lips part, or maybe his do. Both of us let the rain speak instead. Just falling, dripping, seeping.

He turns. "Goodbye."

I touch his knuckle, because he's still close enough. The door bolts: lightning.

Just me and the bees behind my eyes.