Friday, 16 August 2013


Comments welcome, as always.


He shouldn’t smell warm, of happiness and kisses, but he does. I know the exact moment he sees me, because he steps back, taking those warm, happy kisses away from me. 

“Oh. Hi.”

What is he feeling behind those words? I used to be able to tell, but I've started hoping too hard, made myself hear things that aren't really there. 

I have my lunch tray in my hands, but I force myself not to look down to see if it’s shaking, my drink rattling its way toward the edge and giving me away. 

There are people all around us, moving like those little electric fish you see in fancy fish tanks, all seamlessly flowing around each other. Peripheral. I try to focus on them instead of him, but I can’t. I never could look away.

“I’ve missed seeing you.”

I’ve missed seeing you. Not I miss you.  Because the first one can be breezy, like something you say to someone you don’t really know, not someone whose skin you know the taste of. 

“I’ve been here.”

My voice sounds like someone else’s. Someone who doesn’t care either, who doesn’t want to bite her own tongue to stop stupid words sliding off it.

He takes a step back, moving further away from me, and there's a painful moment where I realize this is probably the last time he’ll ever speak to me. But then there’s a tiny flicker at the corner of his mouth, those lips that used to smile at me so easily.

“Look, I…”

He stops, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. Looks at his feet. I put my tray down on the table in front of me, like I’m not watching him. Like time is still moving forward, like my heart is still beating and my eyes don’t feel hot and watery.

I want him to say something. Anything, if it would only stop hurting like this. 

I didn’t do what you think I did.

They’re the only words I could say to stop him being angry with me, but I can’t say them because they aren’t true. So I say the only words that are left.

“I’m sorry.”

He takes a sharp breath, and the shapes moving around us blur as my eyes get hotter. I wish I hadn’t put the tray down now, because I have nothing to keep my hands busy. To keep them from reaching out, from wanting him.

I place my fingertips on the edge of the table, and it’s torture.

“So you’ve said.”

He looks tired. That shouldn’t give me hope, but it does.

“Can’t we just…”

Just three words, but I know I’ve said too much. He could always guess what I wanted.

Can’t we just go up to your room? Can’t we just stay like this for five more minutes? Can’t we just…?

Now it's too much.


The door slams. I grip the edge of the table until my nails crack.


  1. Wow, this is fantastic, Kat!! You gave me ALL THE FEELS and I'd never even met these characters before. Stellar stuff, really really good.

    1. Thank you so much! This type of scene is usually my kryptonite, so I thought I'd give it a real try for Flash Friday :)


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