Five Minute Read: You’re Here Now

She sighed, sticking her hands as far as they would go inside the front pockets of her jeans. She sorely wanted to check the time on her cell phone again, but it would have been pointless. She was keenly aware that three minutes had passed since the last time she looked. And the last time she’d looked, he was already ten minutes late.

Not that being late ever mattered to him. Or being early. To him, time was little more than an annoying gnat that he’d just as soon dismiss as answer.

Restless now, her right boot kicked aimlessly against the cracked pavement. A dying dandelion sprawled out between the seams of the sidewalk. In conjunction, her breath fanned out in a smoky haze as another sigh seeped from her mouth. Through vague eyes, she watched as couples, joggers, and families walked past down the trail to the garden path. The sounds of their muted conversations only further propelled her feeling of loneliness. Of conspicuousness. 

He wasn’t coming.

He’d changed his mind.

Shielded behind the sweep of her hair, she glanced furtively around the park. She’d only been there once before. Twenty minutes away from her home, she felt as out of place as she could only assume she looked. Straight ahead of her, at a fork in the path, stood a boardwalk bar: offering a smattering of tables, with lighthearted conversation floating overhead, it looked both inviting and unfamiliar. Swaying slightly from one foot to the next, she no doubt stood out like a sore thumb—looking both alone and lonely. Like a flawed thread in a quilt. Gone was any chance of appearing like a casual walker out for a solitary stroll.

She was clearly waiting for someone.

And being stood-up.

Dammit.

Hot tears pooled in the backs of her eyes. She’d half-expected this, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d set her up for a fall. It was never malicious. It was just—she was desperately in love with him. And he liked that she was desperately in love with him. And maybe there was something about that which made him more irresistible to her.

She was so naïve she didn’t realize that. That catching his attention, that making him stand up and take notice, that being the reason he changed plans with someone else—that it was a part of the appeal. Perhaps a large part.  

She knew it and still, she couldn’t quite help herself. He had this air about him. Of confidence, of being part of the beautiful people of the world. Of caring…when he decided to. It was infectious, the way he’d dote on her, make her feel like the one person out of thousands who could heal him, understand him. Make him laugh. He had this air of risk. He’d toss her out of her boundaries, but always with the promise he’d keep her safe enough. And he did.

Every time she was with him, she felt alive. Like a shock of electricity zipping up and down her spine, bursting out of her fingers, radiating her smile. The air smelled sweeter, the grass felt softer against her bare feet. The world took on a hazy sort of glow that reminded her of snow globes. This perfect, encapsulation of the life she’d always fantasized about.

So now, she fantasized about him.

And sometimes, he’d allow her dreams to come true.

Worse, sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes, he’d let her down. When he picked someone or something else over her. The turmoil was horrendous. It would leave her stomach churning with the acid of questions, anxieties about what had gone wrong: what had she said or not said? What should she have done? Was she not scintillating enough? Was she not scandalous enough? Did she bore him or try too hard?

And then, right when she’d hit the pit of despair, and sometimes even afterward—sometimes after she’d grieved and come to grips with the fact that this dysfunction wouldn’t get better, that she deserved better—he’d call or show up unexpected at her house.

And she’d be high on life, high on him and that enigmatic magnetism all over again.

It was a disaster waiting to happen. It was a relationship that would never come to fruition.

She knew it and still, she found herself there: standing in the midst of an approaching autumn evening waiting for a man who wouldn’t show. Which only made her more the fool.

Alone.

Again.

For him. And yet, unrequited.

Because she couldn’t help herself. And she hated herself for that.

“God, you’re so pathetic,” she spat, her lips curling cruelly at the sides of her mouth. “Stupid, stupid—!” Spinning on the heels of her boots, she was on the point of stomping off. She’d waited long enough. She really did deserve better than this. Only, just as she twirled around, she saw him. Coming up the walkway behind her. Slowly, with the long-loose stride of a man who was used to be watched. And liked it.

“Ben,” she whispered, her lips tugging upward of their own accord. Her heart jerked almost painfully in her chest, her skin tingling with anticipation. It was the drop right after reaching the heights of a rollercoaster ride. Her emotions scattering every which way, her blood heating up, cooling down, then blazing…

Schooling her features, a bit belatedly, she let her eyelashes skim down low over her eyes, her mouth pulling into a demurer state of mind. “You came.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, shrugging into the warmth of his jacket. There was no contrition in his comment, only a flat statement. He knew, after all, that she’d wait for him. She always had in the past.

As if on cue, she waved her hand in the air breezily. “It’s no big deal.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, where the compulsion to please him suddenly sprang from, especially when it should have been the other way around. She should have been pouting and he should have been grateful she’d stayed; remorseful he’d kept her. Yet another thing she’d hate herself for in the morning.

Ben came to stand in front of her, the scent of his cologne wafting into her nostrils, reminding her of late nights spent under snuggling up to his chest, under the glow of string lights and champagne. “You sure? You looked kind of upset when I saw you just now.” Reaching forward, he traced a finger down the side of her face. Despite the grave words, Ben was smiling at her, seemingly amused at her show of temper.  

Her body reacted accordingly, her stomach spasming at the contact, her chin leaning into his touch. Her indignation evaporating as though it had never been.

“You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He looked like he was going to say more. Brows drawing low, mouth pulling down slightly before opening…

A moment of panic seized her. He didn’t usually look so reticent. He didn’t usually look so unnerved by statements such as these. He liked to bask in the admiration of those around him.

“No,” Holding up a hand, she waved off the words hovering over his tongue. “Don’t.” The words shot out of her mouth insistently, almost violently.

He tilted his head questioningly.

“Don’t apologize,” she insisted. The hesitation of his voice, his stance—suddenly, she couldn’t stand to know why he was late. She was afraid he would actually put it into words.

What she meant to him.

 Her fingers reached out to grip the sides of his open jacket. “You’re here now.”