𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

please forgive me

(Your POV)

Timothée has been away filming for his new movie for two months now. Aside from late night FaceTimes and the very rare visit to set, I haven't seen him at all.

So when he told me he would be coming back home for two week break, I took the opportunity to plan an amazing two weeks together, starting with a special dinner at our favorite fancy restaurant. I had to call weeks in advance, and even with that, I only got us a reservation because I casually mentioned that it was for Timothée.

I spent the entire day getting ready, going out to the mall for a new dress and styling my hair and makeup to perfection. I even put on my expensive jewelry, something I only do on very special occasions.

Ever since Timothée told me when he would come back, I've been excitedly awaiting his return. But as I sit in my brand new dress alone in the apartment, I can't help but feel slightly annoyed. I tap my foot impatiently and repeatedly check the time on my phone.

Timothée was supposed to be here an hour ago. He was going to stop at his apartment and get dressed up before heading to my place to pick me up for our date. But here I sit, all alone, anxiously wondering where he is.

I haven't received a single message from Timothée since this morning. No texts or call letting me know why he was late. Hell, he didn't even call me when his plane landed. How do I know he's even in New York?

My mind briefly racks through a list of all the terrible things that could've happened to him that would cause him to be so late. But I quickly put an end to that; Timothée would call me if he was in trouble. I know he would.

I finally decide to call Timothée again, hoping that he picks up the phone. I dial his number and hear the phone ringing, but he doesn't pick up. Instead, I hear his voice telling me that he can't get to the phone right now and to leave him a message after the beep.

I angrily hang up, not bothering with a message. Hastily, I text Timothée. Maybe he just can't pick up the phone but he'll see my text.

Me: Where are you? You were supposed to pick me up an hour ago. Are you okay?

I press send and stare at my phone screen, desperately wishing for him to text me back. After ten minutes pass and he still doesn't answer, I text him again.

Me: Timothée. I need to know you're okay. Please call me as soon as you see this.

Timothée: Jeez, I'm fine. I'm just tired okay? I don't want to go out.

Me: Um, okay. Why couldn't you say that earlier instead of making me wait for an hour and a half?

Timothée: I didn't think of it alright? Just leave me alone for ten minutes for once. Let me relax for a minute. I'll be there later.

If I were a cartoon character, I know there would be hot steam blowing from my ears. How could he talk to me like that?

Me: You know what, don't bother. Stay home. Don't text me, don't call me. I'm canceling the reservation. Sorry for trying to plan a special night.

If Timothée could see me right now, he would be six feet under. I'm fuming. He doesn't even have the decency to be polite. He waits until the very last minute to text me, and when he does, I'm made out to be the bad guy. Ridiculous.

I dial the phone number for the restaurant, letting them know that we won't be needing the reservation anymore. The woman on the other end of the line must have heard how angry and frustrated I was, because she asked me if I was okay.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I snap. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. It's been a long night, that's all."

"It's quite alright, Ms. Y/L/N. If you ever want to reschedule your reservation, just give me a call and I will get you in as soon as possible."