Pedestrian |✓

|43| i c e

I was uncomfortable.

It wasn't even from the way he avoided my eyes, the ignored cake box that sat idly in front of us or the fact that I kept clearing my throat at every opportunity I got just to get him to look at me.

The discomfort was radiating off of him in waves. It was like some thick fog that surrounded his presence, making it impossible for me to see pass through it. As each moment passed by, the clock continued to pull, ticking its way as it went along with the silence that kept stretching too as if mocking us.

I cleared my throat again, and this time, he reflexively looked up at the sound. I saw it, though. The instantaneous regret swirling in his eyes upon the sight of me, sitting stiffly in front of him. He wanted to avoid me. He didn't want to face me. But he was stuck here with me upon the insistence of his oblivious mom.

And somehow, it hurt more than what happened the other night. Because the truth that someone you deeply cared for, didn't want anything to do with you was like a dozen of sharp nails, slowly easing their way into your heart. Their pointed ends painfully embedding there, never wanting to leave until it eventually rusts out.

The silence was choking the both of us. It was too much that even the wide expanse of their bright yellow kitchen and the distance that the dining table between us offered, couldn't provide us with air. It was like having a thin nylon string tied around your neck, tightening as the time slowly traveled away.

Then, completely taking me by surprise, he spoke, "what are you doing here?"

I tried to stiffle a sob as my mouth parted, trying to come up with something - anything to say. His words were razor-sharp - unforgiving, mad, foreign. Not the same sweet voice he always used when he was with me. Now, talking to him felt like seeing a familiar stranger. And it was unbearable.

Swallowing the huge lump in my throat, I looked up to briefly glance at him, silenty hoping to get a glimpse of his warm hazel eyes. But as soon as my eyes met his, I quickly slid them away. His warm hazel eyes weren't so warm anymore. They were just there, looking at me blankly as if he couldn't remember all the memories we shared.

"I-I uh," I cleared my throat, "I'm uh, here to uh, just- I dunno, talk about happened the other night."

Another moment filled with unbearable silence followed. I stole another glance at him, this time not looking away as my gaze met his blank hazel eyes that were now growing with an emotion I didn't expect the see in them - anger.

"There's nothing to talk about," he snapped. His voice was as cold as ice, slicing through the thick fog of silence that wrapped us.

"I just want to say I'm sor-" he slammed his hand against the wooden table, the sound resounding through the walls, making me flinch.

He didn't seem the slightest bit bothered by my reaction, in fact, it only seemed to aggravate him more. As if to him, I didn't deserve to feel pain or anything at all. In his mind, he was the victim and I was the reason behind his misery.

His eyes that were glaring heavely at me were burning with emotions.  "Sorry? You wanna say sorry?" he gritted out, jaw clenched and fingers curled into tight fists.

I tried to reach out for his hand that was atop the table, only to be roughly pushed away. An audible gasp escaped my lips. His sharp gaze settling on mine as I cradled my hand. When his gaze fleeted to my hand, a sudden wisp of alarm crossed over his features, but it disappeared quickly.

"Is this some kind of sick joke to you, Anna? You go find some guy to interview, then you beg him to spend time with you until he learns to like you. Then what? You tell him you like him, too? But all of a sudden when you're finally so sure that he's gonna ask you out, you change your mind. Realizing that, I don't know - the other guy's better than he is. Is that it? What's this? A fucking game to you?"