2. the art of planning and directing overall military operations and movements in a war or battle.
The aftermath of last night’s rounds of ammunition was not yet known – she had fled, not looking back, slamming doors behind her. But she could guess. She knew him too well. His next move would be the same as always and yet, she hoped it would be different. She had been hoping for the past 5 years.
The old battle ground was in tatters. A neat fist-shaped hole in the door, desperately hanging on by its hinges and dust had settled in the neglected corners of the room. She wondered at the empty walls, the missing parts of their life they should be proud to show off – photographs of the neat couple-things they did, their smiling faces, posing in front of depictions of their newest adventures. Where were they? Somewhere. Safe from being smashed into a thousand pieces.
She had tried to change. Tried to care less. To want less. Even to need less but she couldn’t pretend any longer. Whenever she left the stage, allowing the mask to lower, that’s when the weapons were drawn. Each of them took blows from the other, cruel words, silent disinterest, each hit, taking a limb, a finger, a piece of her heart. She wondered how he felt too and she felt sorry. She couldn’t even remember who started it – now it was a cycle, spinning fast, hate and resentment. It could have been her and her own insecurities but it could have easily been his cruelty too.
Either way, the call had been made. She had one last card up her sleeve to blow the thing to smithereens, leaving nothing but dust to settle on the detritus. One thing she knew for certain: this would secure the win.
She left the camcorder and the note on the coffee table, before picking up her bags that waited at the door. This would kill him and she knew it. The war would be over and she could start again – there was no way he would battle to fix this one and she would finally be free. Victorious for once – sort of.