The Final Pirouette of My Life.

The Final Pirouette of My Life [2.5]

***

The setting was beautiful. A red-brown table with dewy, sparkling red roses in the middle, in a stained glass multicoloured vase, the chandelier's rays of light from above flickering off it magically. There were dove-shaped cream-coloured lacy napkins; glistening, deep red wine; and one tiny yellow mini-candle flickering spunkily in the middle. Gorgeous, and breathtaking.

Chad, on the other hand? Not so spectacular.

"*Soooo...*" he drawled, making it awkward. He adjusted his T-shirt and fiddled with a strand of his messy, unbrushed dark hair. And not in the cute "messy" way. Like, *messy.* I, however, was wearing my deep red dress, my black hair in large curls around my shoulders. I was wearing make-up-my *good* kind, too-and I looked quite beautiful, if I did say so myself.

I had put in an *effort.* And he hadn't.

Still trying to remain upbeat (because Chad *had* to be the perfect guy for me! He just had to!) I put my cherry-red lips into a tiny, just-a-little-bit-forced smile. "So, how was your day today, hun?" LOOK! I'M PUTTING FORTH EFFORT! FOR YOU! LEARN BY EXAMPLE! Honestly, it took every cell in my body forcing against one another for me to utter the word, "Hun."

"My day? It was pretty *epic,*" he said.

"...Epic? Ah. How interesting."

"Except, then this asshole Brad comes in, and-"

"Uh, Chad? Maybe we should stay positive." I noticed he was frowning and stabbing his bread with his butter knife. How elegant.

"You're right, babe," he laughed-forced. He cleared his throat. Awkward. Again. I took a tiny bite of bread.

"And how's that little dance of yours coming along?" Chad wondered. I didn't like how he said it.

"That, 'little dance,' is good, thanks. I've actually just figured out an easier way to pirouette! Since it's my favorite trick, I've been working hard at making it perfect. So, you put your weight on your first toe, so you get more balance, and then with your other foot you push-" I was warming up to something almost close to happiness, when he cut me off.

Chad was in the midst of a large yawn. What an arrogant, snobby, little... boyfriend who I can never dump. Whom I love. Deeply. Seriously!!!

"*You* asked," I said in response.

"Okay, okay," said Chad acceptingly, grinning. That was better. "Man, aren't these scallops good?"

"The scallops are fantastic!" I was trying to get along with him. "*Thank* you."

"My pleasure!" Chad laughed cutely. "My business has really taken off, and-" HYPOCRITE! HYPOCRITE! HYPOCRITTTTTTTTTTTTTTE!

"If I can't talk about dance, you can't talk about business, Chad," I said sternly.

"Ha, ha. No seriously though. Brad is, like, *sooo* annoying, and he totally messed up our huge sale!"

"Seriously, Chad."

Chad munched on a scallop. "What's wrong, baby?" he asked. Then he leaned in close, and whispered, "Are you PMS-ing, again?"

I pulled back and gasped. FIRST OF ALL, YOU DUMBASS, PMS IS A NOUN, NOT A VERB, AND YOU DO NOT SAY 'PRE-MENSTROL-SYNDROM-ING.' OKAY, COLLAGE GRADUATE?! YEAH, OKAY. AND SECONDLY, PMS HAPPENS EVERY MONTH, SO DON'T SAY 'AGAIN' AS IF IT'S SOME DEADLY DISEASE RETURNING. AND LASTLY, YOU CAN'T BLAME EVERYTHING ON PMS, THAT IS JUST SO UNFAIR TO WOMEN. WE HAVE REAL FEELINGS TOO YOU KNOW! IT'S NOT ALWAYS JUST PMS!!!

Chad's face is ghostly white and his eyes are as wide as saucers.

Crap. I just said that out loud, didn't I?

You know what, though? He deserved to know how I felt. And you know what else? I wasn't quite done telling him.

"You're so bloody self-centered!" I yelled. "You... don't even care about me, do you?! You're a workaholic, and money-obsessed. I'm just a little ribbon you can wear to show off to your friends. I don't matter to you! I know this because we can't have *one, normal, equal, adult* conversation without it being all about YOU!"

"Maria, hun..." he whispered.

"We are SOOO not calling each other Hun anymore, you ass."

"...you're causing a bit of a scene. I don't want to look bad in front of potential *clients.* You do understand, don't you?"

"You are so bloody STUPID, Chad!" I screamed. "Did all of what I just told you go right over your head? Were you not listening? Were you focusing on 'potential clients' instead, huh, Chad?"

I picked up my expensive red wine and dumped it on his hideous, shocked face. "Lets let your potential clients see you now," I whispered hoarsely, because I was now fighting back tears (how embarrassing).

"You crazy bitch!" he squealed.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I shouldn't have... That was going a bit too..." I took a deep, shaky breath. "I'll talk to you later, Chad. I just need a moment."

And with that, I sprinted off.