"Never Mind A Heart That's Broken, Right?"OH DEAR Mae just couldn’t understand it. There she was, offering her heart body and soul to this dude and all he cared about was whether his steak was medium or well done. She looked down at her hands, tapping the tips of her fingers on the side of her plate impatiently. Oh god, Mae thought desperately to herself, I’ve gone and stuffed this up royally, haven’t I? Across the table from her, the boy was examining his meal intently, busying himself, determined not to let Mae’s words sink in. He focused on the expensive slab of meat that sat before him, oozing with red juices that were in danger of turning his precious crispy sautéed potatoes into an unappetising soggy pile. The boy leaned back and cleared his throat, causing an apprehensive pair of large blue eyes, wide with worry, to meet his. All of a sudden, he couldn’t breathe. “I need the bathroom” “Okay.” Mae watched as he left the table, scurrying away like a frightened rat. Mae smiled slightly to herself. Yes, that was exactly what he was acting like, a rat. Mae fiddled with the cheap star bracelet, the kind 5 year old children receive in goodie bags at the end of a party, that rat-boy had given her week before at his cousin’s birthday, twiddling each star individually: first the pink then the blue, before settling on green: her favourite colour. Mae sat for 5 minutes, playing mindlessly with the green star; I know your birthday’s not till next week the boy had said as he slipped a small paper bag that matched her cobalt summer dress perfectly into her palms, but some of the kids didn’t turn up, and I thought it was cute, like you. Mae had dipped her hand into the bag excitedly, before extracting the little bracelet and squealing with delight: how romantic she had thought, before kissing the boy deeply and hugging him close to her, he smelt so good she never wanted to let go. Mae peered down at her Penne Arrabiatta, prodding the pasta every now and again, even though her appetite was long gone. She squished a rather large piece of pepper with her fork, only to prevent her mind from wandering in the direction of the men’s room. And so she sat, completely unaware of the many thoughts that were about to rush to the surface of rat-boy’s mind. For now he stood, all alone in the bathroom, splashing handful after handful of cold, harsh water onto his perfect face, completely aware of how out in the restaurant the girl he loved more than anything was slipping through his fingers faster than that water. Yes, he loved her. The boy stood, letting that welcome realisation soak through, a warm smile creeping across his face lighting every feature. “I F*ING LOVE HER!” He announced to the entire restroom, causing a disapproving old man to look up as he entered, shaking his head and ranting under his breath about “kids today”. But the boy was too overcome with excitement to care as he darted around him to rush to the table, which unbeknownst to him Mae had already vacated, taking his steak and her pasta along with a portion of Eton Mess and one Crème Brule home to bury her sorrows in a mountain of food. The boy stood there, mortified, his face still dripping and shirt slowly becoming wetter and wetter, cursing himself for being such an arse. He ran his damp fingers through his glorious messy dark hair, causing several waitresses and surrounding female diners to sigh collectively as his nose crinkled and he bit his lip to prevent it from trembling. Big boy’s lips don’t tremble – even if they have just been stranded in the middle of But then again, at 17, every girl you go out with is the love of your life, right? The boy sat down on his chair, and dug into his pocket shakily, and roughly pulling a wad of notes from his wallet and shoving them onto the overly shiny silver plate an overly obliging waitress had graciously placed in front of him and was now standing just behind the boy’s chair grinning stupidly, ready to grab his coat for him as he left. Some girls are so desperate. It was then that he saw it: Mae’s bracelet, exactly the same as when he had given it to her just one week before, with one exception: the green stars were blackened and misshapen, as if someone dangled them in a flame for too long. The boy began to feel very sick, his insides squirming with guilt. Underneath the bracelet was a note: BITE ME, RAT BOY in bit clear block capitals: the product of a combination of anger, frustration and embarrassment that can bring out the bitch in even the nicest of girls. The boy picked up the bracelet delicately, as if it was Cinderella’s glass slipper, just ten times more fragile, before securing it safely in his jacket pocket. He’d never wanted this to happen, not ever. The boy stood up slowly, his head reeling with unsaid things, and headed for the door, snatching his coat off the giddy waitress without bothering to thank her. Charming.
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