"I've met someone else."

"Congratulations." She drawled, stretching her legs out and swinging the chair halfway around to place her feet on the table. "She hot?" She took a long drag on the cigarette, keeping her eyes locked on him, half closed beneath the thick black eyeliner.

"Hotter than you?" He questioned, straightening his back and crossing his arms. He wasn't about to back down, and he looked ready for a fight. One she wouldn't give.

"No. I mean in general." She rolled her eyes, reached for the table and flicked the long column of ash into the glass circular ashtray. "Seriously. I'm just curious."

"Don't you care Kitty?" He asked, narrowing his own eyes as he stared at her. He couldn't help but feel annoyed at her indifference; if he, who had indeed met someone else, still felt his heart thump at the sound of her husky voice., then how she show such bland neutrality about the whole thing?

She raised an eyebrow, staring at him with those sarcastic, cruel eyes. "Hey, if you don't want me to show an interest just say."

"Of course I want you to show an interest!" He cut back. "But not that kind! Jesus Christ, how can you be so..." He waved a hand through the air, grasping for the right word.

"You want me to cry, beg and plead?" She asked, clapping her hands together as she dropped the still smouldering fag into the tray. "Oh please Dan, don't leave me! I couldn't survive without you." The line started high pitched and girly, falling into her usual sarcastic tone at the end. She tilted her head to one side. "I really don't think we have anything else to say to each other, so just do me a favour and go hon."

"Fine." He raised his hands in defeat. "Fine! I hope you're happy." He turned and left her then, slamming the door behind him.

She grabbed the nearest thing to hand – a shoe beside her feet – and threw it at the door. Then, with that short display of anger over, she buried her head in her hands and wept.

Of course she cared! How could she not? They'd been going out a year and a half, he was one of the few people she felt she could really be herself around. He put up with her cold, sarcastic remarks by wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her just below the ear. That always stopped whatever she was going to say, made her melt and sigh and swoon, all that stupid romantic novel crap that publically, she showed disdain for.

They'd known each other for so long, had danced around their feelings for almost three months before he took the plunge and replied to one of her defensive chirps with an equally as scathing remark of his own. They were perfectly matched, intellectually and aesthetically. Everyone said they looked great together. They played chess and had an equal number of wins and losses between them, with a few 'draw' games thrown in.

They had spent whole nights arguing over literature and films, debating finer points before dissolving into each other, taking pleasure in both words and physicality.

So of course she cared! Of course her heart, inside, was snapping in two, leaving a pair of jagged edges. But what would the point have been if she had begged for him to stay? If she had pleaded for him not to do this to her?

Because it had already happened.

i"I've met someone else."/i

Not 'I'm looking for someone else' or 'I'm considering someone else'.

It was too late!

And so she was left, crumpled and broken, on the chair in front of her desk, digging the palms of her hands into her eyes to try to stop the tears, giving herself a headache so bad that she thought her head would explode, but this feeling was still better than thinking about the first time she'd really, truly had her heart broken.