Don’t You Want Me
You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar when I met you. You smiled at me and brought me exactly what I asked for. Vodka martini, three drops of orange bitters. You were very specific after I was very specific. I appreciated that. Most people think that I’m fussy or picky, when I prefer the term ‘particular’. I like what I like and I liked you.
You were kind but a bit standoffish at first. I wasn’t the first man to show you the kind of attention I was and I know that you were reticent. After all, I didn’t look like much. I looked normal, average, boring. But I continued to show up, night after night, and you got to know me. After a few weeks, you were able to throw in another descriptor of me, one that I valued at the time. Safe.
You relaxed a bit around me. You laughed at my jokes, even the ones that weren’t especially funny. You actually laughed, too. I can tell a fake laugh from a real laugh and your nose crinkled when you found something actually amusing. I found myself looking forward to the end of the day so I could come and see you and it seemed like you felt the same way. It wasn’t a crush. Not exactly. Just a comfortable familiarity that became a part of my daily routine.
You were flattered when I finally gathered up the guts to ask you out on a proper date. You were kind about it and you let me down gently. You told me that I was sweet and you enjoyed seeing me, but you had a boyfriend already and you loved him deeply. You didn’t want to mess that up, even though you acknowledged that we had a sort of chemistry between us that you weren’t going to deny.
I knew what you were saying in that moment. You didn’t even have to say it out loud because I knew. You said it all without saying a word and we had formed such a connection that I was able to understand your meaning so easily. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with me. No, no. It was that this boyfriend of yours was getting in the way. Interfering. It stood to reason, then, that if there were no boyfriend, there would be no reason to say no to a date with me. Simple math and all that, right?
I found out where you lived with him. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Some cursory social media exploration and data scraping led me to your apartment. I was proud of myself for finding it, especially when I was able to acquire a maintenance uniform and wait for a call to come in. I went up there, he let me in, and, well, people’s heads don’t like wrenches, it turns out.
I can’t wait to see you tonight. I know you’ll be excited.
You have to be.
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Here is where I''ll post random stories that aren't, as of yet, in a larger book. Call it a free ride into the mouth of madness, yo.