SIMON: What’s this?
LYDIA: Exactly what it looks like.
SIMON: I’m sorry, no, I’m still confused.
LYDIA: Shame, that.
SIMON: Are you going to visit your mom’s?
LYDIA: Not exactly.
SIMON: Then where are you going? You gotta be going somewhere, right, or are you just using the suitcases to reorganize ‘cause of how OCD you are about that stuff?
LYDIA: Are you finished?
SIMON: With what?
LYDIA: Being snarky!
SIMON: I wasn’t… Look, Lydia—
SIMON: Don’t what? Don’t touch you? I think you owe me an explanation here.
LYDIA: I disagree.
SIMON: You are not being fair.
LYDIA: Well, that’s a change, then, isn’t it? Isn’t it, Simon?
SIMON: What the hell is that supposed to mean? Lydia? Lydia!
LYDIA: I don’t want to talk about this—
SIMON: Well, I do! You said we were good.
LYDIA: I didn’t—
SIMON: Yes. You did.
LYDIA: Only because you…
LYDIA: Get out of my way. Please.
SIMON: You think you’re the only one in pain? What the fuck, Lydia!
LYDIA: This isn’t even about that!
SIMON: Like shit it isn’t!
LYDIA: And how the fuck are you making this about you?
SIMON: Because I’m the one you’re leaving!
LYDIA: Oh! That’s right! You’re the victim, aren’t you? Poor, downtrodden Simon! How will you live without me for your punching-bag—
SIMON: Excuse me!
LYDIA: Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?
SIMON: I never laid a hand on you!
LYDIA: You didn’t have to. All you had to do was… “Lydia, why are there still dishes in the sink?” “Lydia, why are you late home after a doctor’s appointment?”—
SIMON: Oh, for chrissakes—
LYDIA: “Lydia, where were you?” “Lydia, are you really wearing that? You’re asking to get raped!”—
SIMON: I never said—
LYDIA: “Lydia, who’s that guy? Is he hotter than me? Are you cheating on him with me?”
SIMON: Oh, come on, that was—
LYDIA: “Lydia, why can’t I find my socks that are right the fuck where they are supposed to be—“
SIMON: Jesus Christ!
LYDIA: And then… And then one day you said something that was unforgivable. And you know what that was.
SIMON: I’m sorry—
LYDIA: Don’t. Don’t, Simon. I don’t care how sorry you are. It wasn’t the only blow, it was just the worst, and really… really, I should thank you for it. We were never really meant to be together in the first place—
LYDIA: What did I say about touching me? Look, we were only ever even a thing because… but now that’s over. That’s over.
SIMON: Please don’t leave me.
LYDIA: You haven’t given me a reason.
SIMON: I don’t think I can do this without you.
LYDIA: Oh, and you’ve been so supportive of me throughout this whole process.
SIMON: Lydia. Please.
LYDIA: This is called emotional manipulation. And it’s sweet that you think I’ll care and all, after all this… But you have to understand that I know that it’s bullshit.
SIMON: Fine. You know what? Fine. Leave. Leave! Huh?
SIMON: That’s right! Get the fuck out of—This is my house, bitch! Get the fuck out of here! You bitch! You ungrateful cunt! Where the fuck would you be now, if it wasn’t for me? Huh?
LYDIA: Well, I suppose I should be grateful that you’re not getting violent.
SIMON: Where are you gonna go?
LYDIA: I’m not going to tell you.
SIMON: I’ll figure it out—
LYDIA: No, you won’t.
SIMON: I’ll find you!
LYDIA: I’m sorry—were you trying to make that sound romantic?
SIMON: Who is he? This guy you’re leaving me for? You think you’ll like him any better?
LYDIA: Goodbye, Simon.