#maeve

Time ticked as she waited for the next train, her book lagging in the middle, and brain fried from another pointless day tapping keys. At least when she got home there would be a cigarette and pittie happy to see her. Her foot bounced as her legs lay crossed to provide a surface for the novel to spread over. It made sense that it was a tripping hazard when a stranger made contact and nearly met the floor in the process. “New to looking where you’re going?” The brunette snapped, a compilation of the day in one sentence. A groan pulled free with a release of breath. “Sorry.” If she could only stop there. “But I really don’t think that was on me.”

“Stop looking at me like that,” she hummed, brows knitted, and her gaze drew up slowly. Did she deserve it? Maybe. It’s all matter of opinion anyway. “I’m not going to feel bad for being honest.” Even when Maeve tended to go beyond what was the social norm. People deserved to hear the truth. “He didn’t have a chance. If he hadn’t wanted me to answer then why did he ask?” The brunette genuinely confused at the notion it might’ve been the wrong move. Harsh? Sure. Honest? Painfully.

Happy hour with her coworkers hadn’t been something she necessarily wanted to do, but felt like something she should do — the whole maintaining appearances thing. Overcompensating for normal, only to ever want if it even existed in the first place. After a polite glass of wine and excruciating small talk she excused herself to go to the bathroom and make a call which roughly translated to going for a smoke but I don’t want any of you coming with me. In the alley, devastation hit quick. A crisp Marlboro sat between plum lips when realization struck — her zippo was sitting on her desk at work. Dark curls leaded back into the brick in self defeat. She’d have to socialize. “Hey — you got a light?”

Maeve lost the last game of pool and paid her dues in liquid gold. The neck of the beer rested gently between her fingers as she lifted for one more sip before breaking the triangle into shards. She prepared for battle, the pool stick laid comfortably between her knuckles. She had been cautious not to overdo it, her determination being her downfall, the game got away from her. This time, Maeve dawned the mindset of “wing it” and waited to see what happened. The four ball shot into the pocket, while the seven rolled nearby. “Guess that makes you stripes,” Maeve said with a sly smile breaking through her features as she hit the second ball in before sending the cue soaring towards another with no luck. “Floor’s all yours.” A hand gestured forward for them to take their turn then went back to the glass bottle without another word.