AN: i have no idea what this is, was, or will be. but it's something. and goodness. i remember why i liked this writing thing so much. this is sappy and kind of mediocre and wholeheartedly hopeless (-ly romantical) – but then again, what else would you expect from me? it’s somehow the spawn of the first chapter of this thing – maybe someday the two will be properly related. i kind of like to think of them as bookends. a beginning and an end (maybe). i might actually get around to filling in the story in between. someday.

but i'm not making any promises.

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…And she just stood there, in the middle of this café – her café – and I didn’t know how to move anymore. Because of her face … she was just so hopeful, you know? Like she thought that even though I had said what I’d said, that maybe I’d stop suddenly and laugh it off like I was joking. I wasn’t. How could I be joking, with her standing there looking right at me like I was the whole world to her?

‘I can’t deal with that kind of pressure, okay? I just can’t fucking do it.’

Fuck. I hadn’t even meant to say that out loud, you know. But I had, and now she was doing that thing where she just breathed in and out instead of crying and fuck, I wanted to kiss her.

‘I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at me anymore, “I don’t know what I was thinking of. I shouldn’t – I – I shouldn’t have … Christ. I don’t know what it is that I shouldn’t have done, but I did it, whatever it was, and …’

She was breathing in really quick now, like she was gasping for air or something. Her eyes got all shiny and we could both feel the tears coming and I wanted to hit myself for making her like this. So totally ashamed of herself for no real fucking reason. I was standing there like a total twat, watching her do the whole I’m-smiling-so-it’s-really-okay-I-swear thing that she’s done so many times but never because of me…

And then her face crumpled in and she slumped, suddenly, into a chair.

“Christ. I – do you want me to go?”

“No!” she managed in a high-pitched voice, “No. I mean – not unless you want to, or…’

I stood there, in the middle of her gorgeous little café full of yellow plates and photographs and cushions that I’d watched her sew – that black and white one had been for me, she said, and there it was, on the window seat, where it always was like nothing had changed – except I had, or maybe I hadn’t, and maybe that was the problem. Every inch of this place just screamed I’M WONDERFUL, and she was. Every inch of her. Even now, when she was shaking silently in a chair like she was possessed, staring at her hands while they rolled a tea towel over and over again. I knew that.

I found myself moving forward and I stopped in front of her.

“Don’t,” I said, putting a hand over hers, “You’ll wreck it.”

“It’ll be fine,” she muttered, wetly, “It’s a fucking dishcloth.” Her hands stopped, though.

“I’m sorry,” I tried, “I just…”

“You just what? Can’t DO this?” She wasn’t looking at me. I wished she had been. I’m an inarticulate fuck, when it comes down to it, so I didn’t quite know how to tell her how ashamed I was.

“I – “ Sounded like gravel meeting solid rock. I cleared my throat to try again, but before I could make an even bigger ass of myself, she stopped me.

“Don’t. Feel bad, I mean.” She laughed suddenly. “Wow, I don’t mean that at all. Please feel bad, you gutless son-of-a-bitch. Feel awful.” One quick sob, “But shut up.”

She stopped there, for a second. She had regressed to the breathing in thing again. Fuck. I’m such an asshole.

“I’ll” breath “be” breath “okay.” Deep breath.

She stood up then, and shook out the abused dishcloth with shaking hands. Her eyes darted up to mine quickfast and then skittered away out the window. Her voice was low and careful.

“I’ll be okay. Well, I’m disappointed. Maybe even a little crushed.” She laughed and then paused and her chin wobbled, so she threw out her next words and started bustling around the tables, almost as if she were afraid to stop moving.

“I’ll be fine though. Fine! I’ll just rearrange my life and everything and be alone again. Which – which – which isn’t so bad, really. I mean, I avoided all this togetherness crap for such a long time that I’m used to being just me and I’ll find something to do with myself, maybe start knitting again or play one person Boggle or –‘ her voice was getting higher and higher pitched, “- learn how to play the accordion, or … name all my utensils …’

I had to get out of there. I wanted to be gone, so badly, but I wanted even more to have never been here at all. One silly little framed piece of embroidery she’d done of a cow was screaming at me I’M WONDERFUL from the wall behind her head and that poor battered dishcloth was echoing SHE’S WONDERFUL and she was holding on to a spoon –

“He can be called Pete, and me and Pete can just hang out here and be totally fucking okay!” She was crying all over herself and now Pete the dessertspoon was shouting YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE and I couldn’t stop the words that came next.

“I’m totally fucking in love with you. And I’m leaving.”

And I turned away from her, even though she was so completely beautiful – a red, messy, tear stained mess with dishpan hands and hair and eyes and a smile that I want to eat sometimes, even now, because I want her inside me somuch that I can’t even take it – but I turned and I ran, slamming the door, shattering the glass, running only so far as the bus stop across the street because I knew she wouldn’t follow me because I’m a complete fucking coward and then I was crying too.

Across the street, a black and white pillow was propelled out through the shattered front door. It landed on the sidewalk. I couldn’t even work up the balls to cross the street and get it.

Was it a trap? Was it bait? Would she follow it out the door if I went over there to get it, stop me, and make me stay?

If she came out that door, I’d be lost. We’d spend the rest of our lives in that café being totally fucking in love with each other.

And then the bus came. And I got on it, even though I didn’t have the right change and had to cram a folded-up ten-dollar bill into the driver’s silly ticket receptacle. I paid ten dollars to get on a bus to get away from her and my whole fucking future. My whole fucking future with yellow plates and an embroidered cow and a dessert spoon named Pete and this girl that made me so completely crazy that I ran away from her when really I meant to be running the other way.

Fuck. I’m such an asshole.

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review and i'll adore you – whoever “you” are. is there anyone left out there? … ::crickets::