“You wanted to go out tonight.”
I tried not to sigh in exasperation. Thomas was acting like a child!
“I know,” I said gently. “But I assumed that if you weren’t in the mood, you would’ve said something.” I bit my lip, wondering what could have possibly happened to upset Thomas so much.
“And here we are with the shrimp!” The waiter set two sizzling skillets in front of us, loaded with fat shrimp and garlic cloves. They smelled delicious but my stomach flipped and turned.
“Thanks,” I said quietly. The waiter tried to catch Thomas’s eye, but Thomas was staring down at the food with surprising intensity. After a few seconds of silence, the waiter left.
“Well, they fucking forgot my ceviche and you didn’t say anything,” Thomas growled.
I stared at him. “You’re kidding,” I said slowly. “You told me not to say anything! You said that behavior wasn’t appropriate at a place like this!”
Thomas sighed heavily, as if he were dealing with a small child. “No, June,” he said sarcastically. “I told you not to flag the waiter down. That isn’t acceptable behavior. But it’s perfect correct to ask if the waiter is already here.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Forgive me,” I said. “I didn’t know.” I bit my lip. The shrimp continued to sizzle and smoke in front of me. I couldn’t tell if my eyes were watering due to the smoke or because I was about to cry.
“Well, now you do,” Thomas said icily.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you?” I asked gently, reaching out and putting a hand on Thomas’s arm. “I’d be more than happy to listen to you, Thomas.”
“June, I told you!” Thomas thundered angrily. I gasped – some of the other people nearby looked up and flushed. “You wouldn’t understand.”
My chin began to wobble and tears dripped down my face. I reached for my napkin and put it on the table, next to my untouched garlic shrimp.
“Fine,” I said in a shaky
voice. “You obviously don’t want my company right now. Enjoy your shrimp, Thomas.”
Before he could reply, I turned on my heel and stalked out of the restaurant. Tears were flooding my vision and I stumbled and ran as fast as I could. It’s funny, I thought bitterly. I’ve finally gotten used to wearing heels, just when Thomas decided he was sick of me .
I felt ill. I felt nauseous – I felt like my heart was going to explode in my chest and my stomach was going to lock up and fall right out of my body. As I ran out of the beautiful Spanish restaurant, I realized that I’d never felt more humiliated. This was worse than anything I’d endured – even worse than when I thought I’d been fired from P.S.151.
“June! June, wait!”
When I heard Thomas’s voice behind me, I didn’t even think to stop. If anything, hearing him just spurned me on. No , I thought angrily. I’m not going to stick around and let you scream at me for no reason! Tears dripped from my face, blinding my vision as I ran out onto the street and turned.
“June! Wait, June, I need to talk to you!”
This time, Thomas’s voice was fainter. I shivered as I ran. A hot wave of nausea rolled over my body and I paused for a minute, resting my hand against a grimy lamppost as I prayed that I wouldn’t vomit.
“June!”
Hearing Thomas’s voice made me break out into a fast run once again. I stumbled into the street and narrowly missed a speeding car that passed in a haze of honking and screaming. I barely even heard the rude words directed my way – all I cared about was getting far, far away from Thomas.
What had changed? What had I done to make him no longer want me? And why couldn’t he have been enough of a man to tell me himself?
I ran until I could feel snot running down my face. A painful, sharp stitch formed in my side and I gasped in agony before darting into an alley and leaning against the scratchy brick. In a way, the prickly surface felt good – like something I deserved, like something that had been coming to me for a long time.
I was a fool to trust him , I thought sadly as I buried my face in my cold hands and sobbed. The night was a chill one – winter in New York City was definitely coming on strong – but I didn’t feel cold. I felt hot and angry and embarrassed. I hated Thomas March. I’d chased after him like a stupid schoolgirl, and this was what I got in return.
I deserve this , I thought, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.
I don’t know how long I stayed in that alley, sobbing my eyes out. Thomas March’s handsome, leonine face kept flashing before my eyes and I cried bitterly until my lungs were wracked with pain and I could cry no more. My sinuses were filled with a hot, liquid snot that felt as heavy as cement. I wished I could blow my nose, but I didn’t even have a tissue on me.
Blinking unsteadily, I began the slow, long walk from where I stood to the nearest subway station. Even though it was Friday night, Manhattan seemed unusually quiet. The only sounds that filled my ears were the sounds of my heels tapping on the concrete ground. In the distance, I could hear groups of people laughing. I envied them.
Stupid people , I thought bitterly. One of my heels tripped over a crack in the cement and I came crashing painfully down to my hands and my knees. Crying out, I gasped as I made full contact with the ground. My knees were stinging by the time I hauled myself into a standing position and I winced as I wiped the bloody scrapes free of gravel.