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Rated: 13+ · Prose · Contest · #2270271
Taking a stand after an insincere apology.
His eyes briefly meet mine, then glance off towards another table. When I follow his gaze, I notice three women in dresses just barely covering their assets. My lips twist as I remember his words. Words he had spouted only an hour ago before I had caved.

He'd been so sorry. Hadn't meant to post-pone my celebratory dinner. He'd claimed a meeting had come up, but I couldn't fight the feeling he just didn't care. That he might have been with someone else. I imagined he didn't think self publishing was a big deal, but he had not come right out and said any such thing. Still, the feelings lingered. I half thought it was my own imaginings; my own self doubts projecting out. Was I being crazy?

When he had shown up on my doorstep with flowers and his apology, I had invited him in. I'd got caught up in the hot make up sex. God, I was weak.

But at least I had insisted that he could at least take me out for dinner. We had showered together and got ourselves looking date night spectacular.

Now, as I sat here watching his eyes wander around the place, drifting back to the women in the scantily clad dresses, I knew I had been a fool. He wasn't here for me. He didn't really care.

"Is there some place else you'd rather be?" I asked trying to keep my tone light. What I really wanted to do was let the comment drip with sarcasm and throw my drink at him. I dragged in a calming breath as his eyes zeroed back on me.

"No," he said making it sound as if I was just a little crazy for asking.

"It's just you keep looking over at those women," as I glance over again one of the woman shifts her gaze quickly away from us and I get the sense that there is more to this glance than meets the eye.

"I do not," he said as if I am the nut job. "Your imagination is starting to play tricks on you."

"So if I go over there and ask if she knows you...."

"Carrie," he begins with an exasperated tone, "You're being overly dramatic. Save it for your little stories."

"My little stories." I repeat slowly. I can feel my blood begin to boil. I touch my cold fingers to my flushed face. "My little stories." I say again."

"You're reading too much into this and it's ridiculous. We're here to celebrate...You wanted to celebrate."

"Celebrate what exactly?' I ask, curious if he can even remember.

"Your little story..."

"Which is called..."

"Oh, Carrie. Stop this. You're drawing attention..."

"I am merely asking a question, Darren. Can you even remember the name of my story?"

"Does it really matter?"

My brow creases as I pull in a sharp breath. It feels like I had been punched in the gut. Had he really just said that? A wave of fatigue washes over me as I drag in another breath. Pushing my chair back I reach down for my purse.

When I stand, he hisses at me to sit down.

I shake my head. So done with his insincerity. So done with his ways. "Good bye Darren." I say in a voice I barely recognize as my own.

When I pass the woman's table, I say, "He's all yours."

Her mouth drops open in a comical denial that has me biting my lip to keep from laughing or crying. I keep walking. I'd rather be alone than suffer from any more of his insincere bullshit.

My only saving grace is that I did not move in with him. My life is my own now.

Word Count = 623.

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