The Tree
He grimaced across the table at her while she spoke.
She didn't babble about her life as she had in days gone by. Her words were controlled, spoken with a certain amount of enthusiasm, masking a knowing smirk.
She talked about her course, her papers, her work; safe subjects.
How's the boyfriend?
"How's your family?" he asked, stirring his coffee with a plastic spoon.
He hated coffee.
She smiled again and chatted on. Politely, eloquently, with a certain strength she never used to possess.
Have you fucked him?
"Has much happened with you recently?"
She laughed. An almost haughty laugh. Pretentious, perhaps. No, that wasn't it. Condscending. He'd never had as extensive a vocabulary as her.
She talked about her housemates, their flat, their oh-so-lovely landlord, her hilarious sportsmen friends. Nothing real. All superficial.
What's he like in bed?
He cleared his throat uncomfortably,
"You'll have to meet Rachel sometime."
He watched her unblinkingly for a few seconds. Stared intently while she giggled down into her herbal tea and she pulled out the teabag.
She looked up at him through her long unpainted eyelashes.
As far as appearances went, she was fairly similar.
Maybe her waist was a little wider, her cups a little fuller. But the same face, the same eyes. No make-up, casual clothing that hugged her figure.
But she looked different. Felt different.
Her shoulders didn't hunch anymore. They were drawn back. Her posture was somewhere between that of a cadet's and a ballerina's.
She didn't say anything, just stirred her tea and chuckled.
He felt his face growing red.
Partially from embarassment, partially from anger.
She glanced at her watch.
"I've really got to go," she smiled and shrugged, as if there was nothing to be done about it.
He clenched the side of his chair, and was about to throw a seething remark across the table, but she was already pushing her chair back in and throwing her hair over her shoulder.
She strutted away, the smile on her face growing bigger by the second.
He threw his chair away from the table to the shock of the other patrons, and shouted after her, "I hope you think of me when he makes you scream!"
But the door had already banged shut behind her.
She didn't babble about her life as she had in days gone by. Her words were controlled, spoken with a certain amount of enthusiasm, masking a knowing smirk.
She talked about her course, her papers, her work; safe subjects.
How's the boyfriend?
"How's your family?" he asked, stirring his coffee with a plastic spoon.
He hated coffee.
She smiled again and chatted on. Politely, eloquently, with a certain strength she never used to possess.
Have you fucked him?
"Has much happened with you recently?"
She laughed. An almost haughty laugh. Pretentious, perhaps. No, that wasn't it. Condscending. He'd never had as extensive a vocabulary as her.
She talked about her housemates, their flat, their oh-so-lovely landlord, her hilarious sportsmen friends. Nothing real. All superficial.
What's he like in bed?
He cleared his throat uncomfortably,
"You'll have to meet Rachel sometime."
He watched her unblinkingly for a few seconds. Stared intently while she giggled down into her herbal tea and she pulled out the teabag.
She looked up at him through her long unpainted eyelashes.
As far as appearances went, she was fairly similar.
Maybe her waist was a little wider, her cups a little fuller. But the same face, the same eyes. No make-up, casual clothing that hugged her figure.
But she looked different. Felt different.
Her shoulders didn't hunch anymore. They were drawn back. Her posture was somewhere between that of a cadet's and a ballerina's.
She didn't say anything, just stirred her tea and chuckled.
He felt his face growing red.
Partially from embarassment, partially from anger.
She glanced at her watch.
"I've really got to go," she smiled and shrugged, as if there was nothing to be done about it.
He clenched the side of his chair, and was about to throw a seething remark across the table, but she was already pushing her chair back in and throwing her hair over her shoulder.
She strutted away, the smile on her face growing bigger by the second.
He threw his chair away from the table to the shock of the other patrons, and shouted after her, "I hope you think of me when he makes you scream!"
But the door had already banged shut behind her.
Comments