I pull the strands of my hair back over my shoulders and chew on my lip. Anything to look busy and not at all being stood-up by a date... The wooden seat feels all too hard against my back, I don't want to seem lazy so I sit up even straighter--sure, as if this makes me look approachable and at my best.

I sigh and briefly knit my hands in front of my eyes. "Could I trouble you for another latte," I grab the attention of my server. I can see his sympathetic smile and expression, he thinks I'm being stood-up, too.

I look away before he can see the blood rushing to my face in embarrassment and grab the book on the table. There's a bright red rose sandwiched between the pages and I fiddle with it, as if it wasn't sitting just fine before. I keep rearranging it, trying to make it visible but also balanced precariously at the end of the table. The air outside is much colder than within, steam is softly creeping up from the edges of the windows in the cafe while rivulets of rain chase each other down the pane.

Each time the cafe bell rings at the open and closing of the door, I flit my eyes up, hopeful but not too hopeful.

It rings again and I look up but the hope in my body is quickly doused with disgust. I've done something in a previous life to keep running into this asshole. A perfectly handsome asshole but his personality thus far has proven less than cordial.

His green eyes meet mine and I absolutely grab my book. Fuck the flower that unceremoniously falls out of it. I unceremoniously shove it in front of my face to show an obvious sign of disengagement and lack of desired social interaction. It's no good. The too-stiff wooden chair on the opposite of my table is dragged back across the subway tiles and he settles into the chair.

"Fancy seeing you here!" He flashes a wide grin, it's full of mirth and there's a teasing lilt to his voice. I lower the book from my face, after I've schooled my expression. He's not going to get a rise out of me. I'm in control, I'm in control, I'm in control. "Why are you following me," I spit. Okay, maybe not fine tuned control. He picks up the flower from it's sad location on the floor and places it in front of me. "I'm expecting someone, and you're in his seat." I make a fake sad face as I subtly tell him to get lost.

"Goodness me, what a small world. I also came here because I'm expecting to meet someone. She told me she'd be reading Pride & Prejudice, with a bright red rose. Know anyone matching the description?" He picks up the rose again and twirls it in front of his face, inhaling the scent as he watches my brown eyes widen and jaw drop.

I've been in love with this asshole for the better part of this year, and I didn't even know it.

In the final 12 hours before he and I split our lives for forever, I choose to build a shelf to go in the bedroom. I rub my hands on the hilt of the hammer, the shelf is haphazard and it's reflective of my mood. I'm not doing it well, I'm just doing it. I lift it to the wall and I realize it's a two person task and I bite my tongue and my tears back, knowing that I signed myself up to do all tasks as a single person moving forward. And I feel jilted by this stupid IKEA drawer I cannot mount on the wall by myself. I lay it on the ground and I can feel him standing at the doorway. There's an awkward stillness in the air, and despite me still rummaging around picking up foam, plastic, and broken bits of cardboard, it feels so silent in my head and heart. He sits down against the wall and watches me and I'm overcome with pressure in my head, trying to contain all my tears and emotions with just the strength of my physical body. It's harder than you think.

I can't face him, but I know he wants to spend the remaining hours in reflection, or even reverence of what once was before it becomes nothing between us. I also slump to the ground but in the middle of the room in fetal position. We aren't comfort to one another anymore, we're a source of pain until we heal on our own.