Mimi's Cafe — Saturday 7:12 pm
I nibble at my sandwich as my friend tells me about a show she's watching. It sounds funny. I think I'm going to check it out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of blonde. I freeze. I tell myself it's not him. I'm being paranoid, but I check anyway.
My blood runs cold. I know those eyes. That face. Those hands. What is he doing here?
I see him joke around with a friend. He has a drink in his hand, a smile on his face. Does his friend know what kind of person he is? Does he see what's behind the mask?
His heads turns my way and I duck. Did he see me? I start to panic. What if tries to talk to me? Or touch me? My stomach lurches. I'm seconds away from regurgitating my sandwich.
I grab the table, hoping something solid will settle me.
Breathe, I order myself.
In and out.
In and out.
I gain some semblance of myself when I see a waitress ushering him and his friend to a table on the other side of the room. Luckily, he can't see me. I'm in a corner booth and there's a plant blocking his view.
I breathe a little easier. It's okay. For now.
My friend is giving me a curious look. She follows my gaze and her brows draw together.
"Do you know him?" she asks.
Know him? I don't know him. I don't know where he's from or what he does. I don't even know how old he is.
But I do know his eyes turn to ice when he's aroused. I know he likes to dig in with his nails when he's excited. I know his mouth twists in amusement when he's hurting someone.
I know he's nothing like he seems and that the façade he's wearing can drop in an instant.
My friend rubs her forehead. "He looks familiar. Kind of like some guy in my business class. He always sits in the back."
Her description affects me.
Some guy.
Some guy.
Isn't there a saying about that? Guy meets girl. Guy falls in love with girl. And they live happily ever after. If only that was real life and not a fairytale.
But it's not.
Some guy did meet some girl. But they didn't fall in love. They didn't live happily ever after.
The ease, in which he can smile and laugh, as if his world hadn't been splintered, makes my chest burn.
He's not some guy.
Do you hear me world?
HE'S NOT SOME GUY.
He's pain.
He's agony.
He's what wakes me in the night. He's what haunts me around every turn. He takes and takes and I don't know if I'll ever get it back. And what's worse? He doesn't care.
He's not some guy.
But if he's not SOME guy.
Then I...
Then I'm not some girl.
