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“Damn it John, don’t be like that!” Stacy screamed to the blue eyed boy as she slammed the door to the bathroom.
“Don’t be like what, huh? Myself?! This is who I am. I don’t change for anyone!” John spat back.
“All I ask is that you show that you love me! Is it really that god damn hard? I do all these little things for you, yet you can’t even say you love me!”
“Why the hell should I have to? You know it, isn’t that enough?! What do you want me to do, bow down in your name?!”
“I want to be appreciated, that’s all! If you truly loved me it would be easy!” Stacy cried out, finally reappearing from the other side of the bathroom door.
“I’m done. I’m done! If that’s the way you feel then we should just break up. F*** the last year, it was just a waste of god damn time,” John waved off the crying Stacy and walked out the door and her life.
Stacy sank to the floor, arms wrapped around knees, feeling like she would cry for the rest of her life.
The sun streamed in though the window, warming Stacy’s bare form. She stretched a lazy stretch, a Sunday morning stretch. Rolling onto her stomach, Stacy looked beyond the terrace at the Eiffel tower. Her husband’s spot was still warm from where he awoke earlier.
Adam, her husband, came in just then carrying a tray filled with her favorite breakfast, topped with a single red rose. He was always doing something sweet like that. The night before, he had recreated the night he proposed to her three years ago, complete with dancing under the Eiffel tower and a ring wrapped around the stem of a rose.
“Happy morning love,” Adam said, being his usually sweet self.
“Hey baby. You know you don’t have to do this every first Saturday…”
“I know hun, but I don’t want you to forget how much I love and appreciate you,” Adam said as he slid in between the silk sheets, grabbing Stacy around the waist.
“I know Adam. You make sure Ill never forget,” She replied, turning her back to him.
“You’re the love of my life Stacy,” Adam said, nuzzling her neck.
“I love you too John,” Stacy secret slipped out from between her lips, freezing the affectionate man behind her.
My eyes rolled over the crowd, looking for that one face that would make the searing pain go away. Not that I really expected her to come in, Saturday night at Café Noir was our thing. Some of my favorite memories were of Stacy, sitting across from me at the dark wooden table, wearing just jeans and a t-shirt, talking animatedly about her day. Her green eyes always seemed to shine with adoration when she looked at me.
I’m an idiot, I realized shaking my head at my self. I real a** hole.
The minute I walked out the door of Stacy’s apartment that day, my own personal 911, I knew it was a mistake. I knew that, as much as she loved me, she would be able to find someone else to be with, someone who treated her as well as she deserved to be treated. What life could I give her? I was a machine operator on disability leave, 5 years older then her, no where near ready to settle down.
Or at least that’s what I had thought.
The tinkling of the silver bell above the door made me glance up. There she was, the girl I had been waiting for. Long black hair, white tank top, black pea coat, and skinny jeans added to the absolutely normal impression one got when looking at her. But oh wait a mistake that is.
“John, there you are. How are you?” She spoke low, as if afraid someone would hear.
“I’m fine Illiana, how are you?” I asked my old high school friend.
“Ill be better when I get out of here. This place attracts too many...unusual characters,” Illiana looked around with distaste as she sat down at the table. “I have what you asked for.”
The exchange was quick, practiced. Not a single character noticed the exchange. Illiana and I chatted for a few more moments, keeping up the pretense of a meeting, before standing up to leave. We swiftly got up and left, going our separate ways after we hit the doorway. I hurried to my apartment against the raging wind and snow. Without even bothering to check my mail, I rushed up stairs eager to open my package. Sitting down on the floor of my bare apartment, I took out my lighter, my spoon, and my package. I put the contents of the package on the spoon, using the lighter to turn the soft white powder into my own liquid gold. As soon as it was ready, I used my tourniquet and syringe to stop the pain. Stop my thoughts. Stop the image of her from racing through my mind.