"No matter your problems, face them with a bright smile and a bucket of chocolate ice-cream," nana once wisely told me. At the time, I was barely twelve and thought that I could summon a unicorn if I just believed in myself.
A decade later, despi...
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Maeva's point of view.
Dear restaurant manager,
I am writing to formally complain about a habit of yours that should and must be reconsidered. It is regarding your choice of sharp cutlery and potentially harmful objects available on tables. Let's assume that one's having a rather heated conversation with another supposedly human being and that the latter is infuriating, to say the least. Having several options conveniently laid out on a table, one could easily fall into temptation...
I wonder if that complaint would be taken into consideration if I were ever to file it. I'm not exaggerating though. I seriously am weighing my options here. While some might opt for the pepper grinder and others for forks; I personally would prefer tossing the entire table on his head if he ever dares and talks about me leaving again.
So here we are, sitting across from each other, looking like Midwest cowboys before the crucial saloon fight scene. Only in this case, no one seems to reach for the guns for we both know that the damages can be quite calamitous. Mark glares at me, his face motionless and the green of his irises slowly shifting from emerald to Brunswick green. I do not spare him a growl either as I try to figure out why hurdles of emotions are colliding in my head.
Never have I ever fell for someone's words or lost control of myself like I just did right now. It's like he's developed this secret power of pushing me over the edge then making me want to punch my own face. Under the many many layers of anger piling inside of me, lies a pea of guilt for I know, deep down, how much my words must've stung.
"You of all people are telling me that?" he reproaches, and my heart squeezes at the flash of pain that takes over him. He is right. I should've never said that. In a matter of seconds, all the frustration's flushed out of my system and the urge to get up and hug him is very hard to repress. I need to at least tell him that I'm sorry. Come on Maeva... say it! For the love of everything that is holy, just say the word...
Nothing. I do nothing. I say nothing. In a sphere of nothingness, I float as nothing seems to function.
"Ahem..." The waiter who must've felt the intense aura surrounding the table waits distantly, plates in hand. Desperately searching for an excuse to look away, I motion to him and soon enough, the unbearable silence that was once reigning is overtopped with intense dish clinking. Before I know it, the three nearby chairs are not vacant anymore, and the loud chatter of Kimberly and James arguing over the salt shaker fills the air.
'Here goes your chance of apologizing.'
Conscience. Where in the world have you been?
'I lost the bet, remember?'
Oh, right...
'I leave you alone for less than twenty-four hours, and you manage to get on the guy's nerve'
