ACT VI: Confessions

Stage: Two chairs, set apart, angled toward one another. Dim light, cooler now. A faint blue wash, like night settling in.

They stand, not sitting. Each circles slowly around their chair. The scraping of shoes on the floor is deliberate, rhythmic. They orbit like planets, never colliding.

Silence stretches.

HER (quiet, trembling): You were the only one. Always.

Silence. Circling continues.

HER (stronger): The only one I told. Everything.
(beat)
The only one I trusted with my breaking.

He stops mid-step, gripping the back of his chair. He lowers his head.

HIM (low, hoarse): And I broke you more.

Long silence.

HER (bitter laugh, short): You shattered me.
(beat)
And I kept sweeping up the glass.

She steps closer, fingers brushing her chair like an anchor.

HER (softer, breaking): I carved myself smaller, smaller,
(to herself)
just to fit the spaces you left for me.

He moves suddenly, circling faster, words spilling.

HIM (bursting): I could not hold you. Don’t you see?
(shouting now)
I could not even hold myself.

He slams both hands on the back of the chair. The sound echoes. He stays bent forward, shaking.

Silence.

HER (after a pause, steady but pained): Then why take me at all?
(beat)
Why let me believe? In this. In us?

Silence. He lifts his head, but does not answer.

HER (rising anger): You made me weightless.
(beat)
You called it love.
(beat, louder)
You said it was love.

She tips her chair over. The crash fills the space.

HIM (explodes, raw): It was love.
(beat, quieter, breaking)
It always was love. It still is.

Silence. Both stand heaving, facing one another across the fallen chairs.

They step forward, almost colliding. Their faces inches apart. Neither touches. Their breath fills the space.

Unbearable tension.

The light slowly dims until blackout.