Very Short Story: String Me Along Again

I’m doing it again, waiting for you. It’s becoming extremely exhausting. I keep telling myself that it’s fine, that it’s not really a big deal but you know, to me it is. I shouldn’t have put on this outfit today, worn my favorite dress, worn these high heels. Shouldn’t have spent the extra time fussing with my hair, re-doing my make up to ensure I looked perfect for you. Worn my favorite perfume. There was no point, I knew you weren’t going to show up.

I sit here in the cafe shop slowly sipping my latte, twiddling my thumbs because I was an idiot and didn’t think to bring anything with me in case you didn’t show up. Why did I think you would? I have no idea.

It’s fine though, I tell myself again, for the millionth time. I find excuses for you, because obviously you are far too busy to share those reasons with me right now. You are overwhelmed at work, you are driving and can’t text, you are tired from your week, you are…not interested, you don’t want me, you don’t need me, you don’t think I’m attractive, and on…and on…and on. No, I say, he just talked to me all last week! Why would he suddenly not be interested?

The time ticks by, one minute into an hour into three. I wipe the red lipstick from my lips, no longer liking the effect it has as I did when I was bouncing in the car on the way to the cafe. I was so excited to see you, to look into your eyes, to feel the warmth of your presence as we talked. The red stains my skin but there’s nothing I can do, it’s left there like the remnants of your words; your promise. Stuck to me, unmoving and there is nothing I can do to make it go away.

It’s my fault, I tell myself. This isn’t the first time. It’s not even just the second. I should know better by now. But I don’t, I am back making the same mistakes that I made before. Round in circles I go, a merry-go round that brings nothing but tears and an ache in my chest so deep I can’t seem to ignore it any longer.

My phone buzzes and I jump. “Hey.”

That’s all, three little letters and my heart zips into overtime thudding away against my ribs like a congo drum. It’s you! You ARE thinking about me!

“I’m sorry, I can’t make it.” And just like that, my heart plummets back into my stomach the acid eating it whole.

“Oh that’s ok.” I respond, not wanting to let you see the pain. Not wanting you to see that hurt inside.

“I’ll see you soon, I promise.” you say. And I smile, because you wouldn’t break your promise again would you? You wouldn’t, you’re too sweet to do that.

“I trust you.” I wrote back. I slide out of the coffee shop with a dreamy smile on my face as I bury the knife back into my chest, far enough to still feel it but out of sight so that I can pretend the hurt isn’t there. You promised you would see me. I believe you.

 

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