The realisation

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He’d expected her to throw something, call him an arsehole and storm off...not cry.  That was why he’d chosen the pub, it was noisy and when it was all over he could go get himself a drink and forget all about it. Usually after drinking about his own body weight of Corona’s he should barely remember his own name. His mates were sitting in the booth behind them; every now and again one of them would lean out to look at them, some nodding encouragement or to make faces to put him off which he glared away. He’d done this before, said it all before and he knew all the words. Words that had become like an automated response, avoiding the usual ‘”it’s not you it’s me,” crap.  When he looked back up he could see that her face and eyes had reddened, oh crap. He’d never had a woman cry on him, for once in his life he felt totally lost. What was he supposed to do? What the hell could he say?

  There were tears now, definite tears trailing down her neck and jaw. There was a sudden tight feeling in his throat, like his windpipe was closing up on him, choking him. If he were honest he’d take having a pint poured over his head- being screamed at and being called an arsehole over feeling like this. This was something else, and it was horrible. She was doing it somehow, making him feel bad...maybe the waterworks were on purpose. If he were completely honest with himself, he was a bit of a git and it wasn’t as though they’d been going out that long anyway, it wasn’t serious, was it? He told himself as much the other night when Catlin, the brunette one from Design had finally made a pass at him on that night out—about four of those green shots down right enough—and he’d got together with her that night.

    It was typical that; spent the whole year chasing after Caitlin only to get nowhere when she’d shown up in between. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, it wasn’t serious he reassured himself. He thought she knew that. So why did his chest feel like it’d been hit with a brick?
  He didn’t want to meet her eyes, he hesitantly reached out and brushed the tears from her jaw, feeling the soft skin. He accidently slipped up and met her eyes, locking him in a stare, he noticed the gold-ish rim around them. When he looked properly she was a bit weird looking, her eyes were too dark; too big for her face, they gave her away. She had this scar on the side of her forehead, this strange white line like it had been drawn on. She wasn’t even that nice looking when he really looked at her, her blonde hair hanging low over her shoulders and a too long fringe hiding most of her forehead. She had a weird laugh that managed to get heard across a room, a laugh that erupted anytime he did something stupid, like trip over his own clumsy feet or accidentally break something. She was always teasing him, mocking him with this stupid grin that lit up her whole face. She’d said he was funny- he wasn’t. He never tried to be funny. If she wanted funny she should have gone out with Dave from psychology.

  It was never going to work out anyway, it really wasn’t.  He watched as she swiped at her eyes looked around the room for something then settled for looking down towards the table. Before he knew what he was doing his hand had brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. He caught the scent of her hair. The same scent that still clung to his pillow and on his clothes whenever she’d borrowed one of his shirts, it lingered there like she was still in his flat long after she’d gone. He remembered the heat of her on the other side of the bed, waking up with her body curled towards his back, her arm curved around his as she slept and that silly smile greeting him when she woke up. He traced his hand down her neck through her hair and down to her shoulder her eyes flashed with something he couldn’t quite understand. She pushed his hand away, she was saying something now, but he couldn’t really hear anything, it was like his head was muting everything around him. He looked down to try and get his head together. He looked up a few seconds later to see her heading out towards the door and down the stairs before finally disappearing out of sight. He stayed staring at the stairs for what seemed like ages, feeling like the air had been punched out of him. Eventually he was aware of movement from the other booth as some of the guys got up to clap him on the back in congrats, a few of them were talking to him he smiled and nodded, but to be truthful he wasn’t listening. He sat down in the booth, his limbs feeling heavy. The pints continued to be pushed towards him and there was a lot of talking, turning into shouting to be overheard by the increasing music. Only that pressing, choking feeling remained, bringing with it a dull ache as the night wore on. What is this?