"I Don't Know..."

"What don't you know," I asked. I could feel my fingers begin to sweat. I rubbed the tips of them across my palm to remove the sweat, but there was no way to stop it.
"I don't know how much longer I can last here," she said quietly.
I watched her head slump down and her hands touch her face. She wasn't crying. She never does. She just put her forefingers and middle fingers together and up to her temples. She started to rub. I hated when she does that. She proceeded to move one hand down to the arm of her chair. She kept her two fingers up towards her temple like the barrels of an invisible gun; she was just dying to pull the trigger.
"Aren't you happy?"
"Are you?"
"Yes. Are you?"
She paused. She hesitated. I can see the cogs of her brain working more and more. Why is she doing this? Why is she acting this way? There's no understanding to it. I have no understanding or idea or description or anything. I have done nothing wrong. I never do anything right for her. I don't do things the way I should. Maybe I should stop smoking. Maybe I should stop spending so much time away from her. I haven't been home in the past few days. Could it be she's lonely? Or perhaps she's done with me. Is this what this conversation is about?
"Are you done with me? Is this what this conversation is about?" I asked firmly.
She giggled. For the first time today, I saw the irresistible smile. "No. Never. I want you to be happy. I want to be happy. It's not the relationship that causes me pain. I don't know what does. I love you. I want you to know that. It's just this place. No place feels like home to me anymore."
She paused again, "I'm tired. Let's go to bed. We'll talk some more in the morning."
We laid down. I held her close. I tickled her nose with mine and we fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed. Her side was still mussed and warm, but her things were gone. Her books, her clothes, her laptop. She was gone. I quickly got up. "Charlotte?" I shouted. "Charlotte?" She never responded.

I felt the tears begin to form. I can feel my heart begin to have that aching feeling you get when you miss your home for too long. I walked silently back to my room. There was a manilla envelope on my desk. It laid still on top of my laptop. The envelope said nothing on it. It wasn't even sealed.

I opened it.
There was a payment for $45 for the electric bill.
There was a payment for $15 for the gas bill.
There was a payment for $104 for the cable bill.

Each payment came with a letter stating the closing of the account under the name Charlotte Brendan. I sank to my knees. The tears started to drip down my face and at that point, I didn't care if I looked like a little schoolgirl with a scraped shin. She took her bills, she took her books, she took her clothes and her perfume and her hair conditioner and left one thing behind.

She left me.