#fakeargument

Your eyes open just before the alarm starts to beep.   The dim light was filtering through the almost closed curtains.  You roll over and pull the comforter up around your shoulders and snuggle in for just a few more minutes.

The familiar beeping, which starts your day, begins and you allow one arm to snake out and turn it off.   Laying there for a moment, the anger and hurt that drove you to bed early last night threatens to overtake the sleepiness you feel.   Stretching your legs and your arms over your head, you hear the notification sound from your phone. 

Sighing and swinging your legs out of bed, you sit up and scoot forward until your feet feel the cold wood floor.   Shivering the same thought that runs through your head every morning begins, “I’ve really got to put a rug beside the bed before winter”.

Walking over to the dresser in the corner, you pick up your phone to see what it was notifying you of.   Swiping your finger across the screen you see a message, “I’m sorry”.

With anger building, the sting of fresh tears blur your eyes.   Putting the phone down without replying, you walk into the bathroom.    A moment later, you hear the same notification sound in the otherwise quite apartment.  Gritting your teeth, you open the door and pick up the phone again.  The words, “Please talk to me”, glow on the screen.   Swiping your finger on the screen, you tap the green Messages icon and type, “No.”, then set the phone back down and step back into the bathroom and shut the door.

Stripping off the t-shirt and underwear you slept in, you turn on the shower to the hottest temperature you can stand.   Steam begins to form and cloud the small bathroom.   When you are satisfied that the shower is warm enough, you step in and under the stream of water hoping it will rinse away your bad mood.

Twenty minutes later, you smell like pomegranate and flowers, but your mood is no better.   The cloud of steam is so thick that you cannot see the door at the other end of the room.   You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, and take the four steps to the mirror and vanity.   Wiping the mirror with your hand, you look at yourself in the mirror.  “I deserve better than this”, you think to yourself as you begin drying your hair with a second towel.

Stepping out of the bathroom, the song of the morning plays again.   Rolling your eyes, you pick up the phone as you open the top drawer and find the midnight blue bra and panty set you wanted to wear today.    It was silly, and you know it, but some clothes make you feel strong and powerful, or girly and sexy.    And you needed to feel strong today, and the midnight blue set was going to do that for you.

As the phone glowed to life again, you see that there are now five unread messages, all from the same number, waiting for you.   Tears threaten to start to fall again, as your vision blurs.   Opening the message app again you see the new messages were sent about five minutes apart.

“I need to talk to you”

“Please”

“I am truly sorry”

“Please forgive me”

“Fine, I will be at our table, if you want to meet me”

Breathing deep, you turn the phone back off and throw it on the bed.    Opening the closet, you pull out a black knee length skirt and a red satin blouse.    Then opening the top drawer again you pull out a pair of black sheer hose.   Throwing it all of the bed, you walk back into the bathroom to finish drying your hair.  

Ten minutes later, you hair is done and you are finishing up your makeup with a swipe of mascara and a brownish pink lipstick.   

You check your phone and there are no other new messages.   You tap your finger on the phone, in deep thought for a moment.   Shaking your head, you toss it back on the bed and finish getting dressed.

Slipping on a pair of black heels, you are somewhat ready for the day.   You just need to decide what you are going to do about breakfast.  Looking at your phone again, you shake your head and grab your keys and purse and walk out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at your favorite little coffee shop.   It sits on the corner of Lily Ave, and 4th street.   You love this place, because it is small and intimate.  The tables and chairs don’t match and it always smells of fresh ground coffee, chocolate, and vanilla. 

As you approach you see him sitting at “your” table.   He is wearing dark jeans, a black shirt and motorcycle boots.   He is staring down at the table, lost in thought.   A cup of coffee sits forgotten, to the right of where his arms are resting on the table in a position that looks like he is either reading or praying.   You also notice that he hasn’t shaven and his hair is a bit unkempt.  I looks like he got as much sleep as you did last night.  

You stand with your hand on the door, not sure if you should open it or walk down to your office building and grab a coffee and muffin in the lobby.  The pain in your chest feels bruised, like you have been punched, and your hand shakes.   The owner spots you and gives a small smile and glances over to him, then nods as a signal that you should come in.    Your lips at a thin line as you take a deep breath and open the door.   The small bells above the door shake signaling your arrival.

Your eyes on still on the owner as you step inside and walk to the counter.  The owner smiles and takes your hands, and says, “He’s been in here all morning waiting for you to show up”.  

You give him a small nod and pull your lips tighter, making your lips completely disappear.   Releasing them, you say “Can I get a small coffee black and a banana nut muffin?”. 

Then you turn and see him watching you warily.   As he looks for any sign of forgiveness, he stands and waits for you to get your order and join him.   At first his arms swing nervously at his sides, then he clasps his hand behind his back and waits.

You walk past him with your order and take a seat at the table.   He turns and takes his seat again and meets your eyes.

“I’m sorry”

“I know you are.  I got all your texts this morning”, you reply meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know you didn’t, but whether you intended to or not doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

“What can I do?”

You sit silently for a moment.  You really hadn’t thought about what he could do.  You had pretty much decided last night that you didn’t want to see him again.  Yet here you are having breakfast with him, while he begs for forgiveness.

“I don’t know if there is anything for you to do.   I think we are just too different.”

“Don’t say that.   I have been miserable all night.  I don’t want to be without you.”, he said reaching out and taking your hand.  Stroking the back with his thumb.

You watch his thumb as you take a bite of your muffin, and then look up and meet his eyes again.

“Give me another chance.   Come over tonight and I will cook.  I will make your favorite, and that bread that you love.”

“I don’t know if I can put myself through much more of this with you.”

“Just give me tonight.   I don’t want to be without you.”

He raises the hand he is holding to his mouth and places a single kiss, his beard scratching the back of your hand.

You continue to look at him, debating whether to give him another chance or save your heart any further grief.  Looking into his eyes, dark and pleading, you feel yourself giving in to his request.

“Okay.  I will come over tonight after work.  But if you break my heart again, lose my number.  I’m serious, don’t call me again”.

A tight smile forms on his lips and the corner of his eyes crinkle, as relief floods his body.