file under cynics.

she had the upper hand here.

they sat in a somewhat unfamiliar place, the remnants of their dinner on their plates. perhaps just her plate, because he generally cleaned his. did  he notice everything, about this, about her? details like the china they were eating from—did he/would he notice that? she set her glass down hard after a swallow. what about her smiles, here—could he tell they were false in this nasty town?
               d i d    h e     k n o w    a n y t h i n g    a b o u t     h e r?

he must not. he must not know her at all, because otherwise he would understand that she had no intricacies to untangle, no delicacies of manner to be entranced by, and her eyes weren’t soft. this was something she had discovered in late highschool, peering at herself in the  mirror after her first boyfriend had just ended things. she felt something, of course, a seventeen year old sense of betrayal and abandonment, but her eyes wouldn’t show it. they were blue, a pretty blue, a closed blue. there was something hard and glinty  about them. they looked like the sound of  a fingernail tapping firmly against glass.

most boys wanted girls with soft eyes. those girls got liquid at the right times; their eyes didn’t renege on them. she pushed her plate away dismissively, with a sigh. he watched; he watched everything she did. he set his fork down, done as well, and she knew he was going to kiss her. he leaned across the table  and took her chin.  this was good. she rode the crest of the waves in her stomach. she knew she was a good kisser. perhaps it made up for her feeling-less blue eyes. 

he broke the kiss, and she was slightly surprised. standing up, he took both their plates to the sink, crossed the room again. he went to his keys, not to her. as he pocketed them, she stood, confused. “goodnight, baby,” he told her. the waves in her stomach peaked, curled, and crashed. there was a sudden tightness of terror in her throat. why was he leaving? it was not even eight o’clock yet. he could not quite hold her eyes now, shifting his body weight. a half-minute of awkward silence passed. she could hear the steady beep of a cardiac monitor.

“don’t call me baby,” she finally said, in a scared rush. “i don’t like it.” her voice sounded irritated, but it was thin (and weak).

he sighed. “okay.” and he  left.