self-work, self-profit || c. divus

「1」

"I-I'm sorry, but I think this relationship won't work."

Before she could even pour herself a glass of wine, the sound of rejection that rolled off the mouth of her boyfriend stunned her in a mental shock. Pandora slowly lowered the unopened wine bottle that felt so light within her grasp, lifting her head up to meet his gaze, then proceeded to scrunch her face up in confusion.

"What makes you think so?" Came her question. She made sure to come off as calm, collected, professional. "We're quite familiar with each other, are we not? I don't think dating for 7 years, sharing the same house, spending time with each other during evenings and me leaving my job for you is a relationship that won't work."

"It's exactly as you say, Pandora!" He exclaimed, a conflicted expression painted on his features before he shut his eyes in pain. "We're too familiar with each other! It took me five years to get you to spend less than three hours with me for dinner, watching movies and talking about politics! I begged you to stop working as a professor at this age because we wouldn't be going anywhere."

Oho, I see how it is.

"So while I've been voicing my opinions during our relationship to exert comfortability, you've been trying to 'bear with it', is what I'm getting out of your words?" Pandora asked, a stern tone behind her voice. "''Too familiar', you say? I apologise, but it seems like we're getting absolutely nowhere with your statement. It's as if you're trying to get me to sacrifice everything just for you –– I already did, if you've forgotten why I left Royal Sword Academy just to meet you two hours earlier at home."

The more she spoke, the more infuriated she felt.

Slamming her cutlery back onto her plate, Pandora rose from her seat and glared at him through her glasses. "What I'm disappointed about isn't your goals in making this relationship 'work' –– it's how you've never seemed to trust me from the beginning. Yes, everyone is different, and that is why it takes me harder to try to understand the emotions of people –– no, emotional people just like you, and after reaching a point where I've broken away from having difficulty understanding –– we're now too familiar with each other?"

"Pandora, that isn't––"

"Isn't your intention? At first, I thought your words were just some kind of joke or a hidden camera," the woman began, filling up her glass of wine while standing. "But I suppose it's far from it. You're right, my very familiar ex-boyfriend, this relationship won't work."

With the finishing touch, she tipped the glass she held over to the other side, drenching the latter with expensive wine. He sat there, stone for a body, before immediately rising up and grabbing his belongings. Flashing her one more look with tears in his eyes, he then bawled, "I knew it! She's much nicer and more romantic than you! You're just a...a workaholic robot!"

.

.

.

Once he left storming out of the cuisine, Pandora sunk back into her seat and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion rather than sadness.

"She? Who?"

Accomplished,

Gorgeous,

Yet on the day when she turned 29, Pandora Rhodonite found herself mentally unsteady the moment she left an expensive cuisine she reserved a month prior. Her bare legs carried her down the road from the restaurant, eyes still staring into the blurry void beyond her sight, her two hands gripping on the strap of her handbag tight enough to rip it apart.