He sees her car come into the parking lot, and its strange, because she's with all her friends. She pulls the car up in front of him with a screech, the light gleaming off of it, and his friends look at him warily, because they know something is not right.
She's still wearing her school uniform; her plaid skirt hangs above her knees and the collar on her polo is raised. Her hair is down around her face as she steps out of the car and stares at him.
"Hey, baby," he says, and starts to walk towards her. But she takes a step back and shakes her head at him. His friends raise their eyebrows, pretend not to be watching, not to be listening as they bend behind their cars. He stares at her, startled; she always kisses him, even when she's mad, which she appears to be. Always. They've been together for over two years and it's a given they'll get married after college. Everyone expects it. She always kisses him.
"So," she says, and her voice is clipped and sharp, like needles. "Was she worth it?"
His face immediately flushes. His fists clench. "What are you talking about?"
She inhales sharply. "The girl. The one you fucked. Remember? Last weekend. I just want to know. How was she? Was she good? Was she better then me? Did her hair smell like mine?" Her voice is steadily rising in pitch and his heart begins to race. He doesn't bother with the denial, with the 'who told you' speech.
He drops his hand and looks at her, and knows that he truly loves her, and he made a mistake that was all. But there is a sinking feeling in his gut and suddenly he's very pale, because he never thought she would find out. It was one night, and he was drunk and they were fighting and the girl was so hot, and so willing, how could he have said no?
He doesn't even know what to say, where to begin.
"Baby -- I…"
"No. There is no baby, and there is no more us. Was she worth it? What color was her hair? What did her skin smell like?" Her voice breaks. "Did you think of me at all?"
He takes a step forward and grabs her face in his hands, forces her lips on his. It's their last kiss, and he knows it. She yields for a moment, her lips softening before she pulls out of the embrace.
"Was she worth it?" she asks, and he's staring into her eyes.
"No," he whispers achingly. "Please, love. Let me--"
"I hate you," she tells him brokenly. "I hate you."
She turns from him and he snatches at her wrist, trying to pull her close. She whirls around and slaps him in the face; his cheeks sting with the blow.
He raises his hand to his wounded face and stares at her, mournfully, shocked. "I love you," he tells her.
"I know," she says, "but it just wasn't enough." She slips back into the car and drives away; his friends crowd around him.
He keeps his hand on his cheek, relishing the sting, the ache. It will be the last time she ever touches him, and he hangs his head silently.
Was she worth it?