Day 1: Emotion

I order the wine and I wait. She will come or she won't, but I'm pretty sure she will. It's become a habit of hers to ruin my evenings with her presence and it makes me sick to my stomach, but it's become a habit of mine too. Bad habits are to easy to fall into, i think, and she is worse than wine, worse than any drug I could have chosen to be my exile from the reality I wake up to every day, she's my fucking damnation and I sit here alone in a shitty tavern on the outskirts of Paris where my friends could never find me but she will easily.

"Are you hiding or are you waiting?" She asks as she sits down on the opposite side of the table, reaching for my wine cup.

This time I move faster and grab her hand before she can stain my wine with her perfect lips. I grip it tight, tighter then necessary, tight enough to cause her pain and I see the pain flash in her eyes even though she would not admit to in, her face is relaxed and I find myself willing to crush her inappropriately soft hand just to see her face become honest for a minute. Even if it's honest in pain. I let go instead and I resent myself for missing the warmth of her hand immediately. But that's just the thing with her. With us. Let her get close and I hurt her, break her and if I don't… She'd use my hesitance to do the same to me and she will succeed beautifully, not that there's much of me left to break, but I'm trying, damn it, and maybe I am trying just to keep it interesting for her. That's not true of course, but the thought is ironic enough to make me smile.

"Get your own." I slur at her and she is angry because I hurt her. Because I waited for her and then she had to get too close to my wine and I hurt her and we both know it's not about the stupid wine. She should leave now for her own good because I will hurt her again, I will hurt her more, I will hurt her deeper. Because I wake up into this reality every day and then I remember and I want to hurt her so that we once again share the same feeling. If she has feelings, this impossible woman, which is highly questionable.

She doesn't leave. She asks the waitress for the wine and I realise I'll have to suffer through the evening in her company. Well, alas. I wish I was unhappy about it, but I know myself too well. I will suffer through the evening and I will enjoy it because that's who I am now. And I'll make sure she suffers through it no less and I will enjoy that as well. I have a suspicion that she would enjoy it too, because that's exactly how fucked up this whole thing is.