I should really learn next time what to say. I sat there, staring into my drink, the sudden hot embarrassment washing over me, drenching me in its searing pain.

“What did you say?”

I should have looked up then, but I didn’t. I stirred the spoon in my coffee, before bringing it to my lips for a quick sip. It didn’t make the burning embarrassment go away, but at least the scalding liquid was better than that steaming mental anguish. I lowered the coffee back down into the saucer. I wouldn’t bring my eyes up to hers, no way in hell. Dignity nagged at my door, but I knew, oh Lord I knew, this coffee was better than anything that the external world could dish out. Better just to keep to the coffee, it was after all early morning. Coffee is good for early morning, wakes you up.

“Peter, I…I don’t know what to say.”

A drink would solve all my problems. A simple drop of alcohol on the dry tongue, just one, one for the road, one for the pals, one for the bad times. This coffee won’t do shit. Hell, it looks like shit.

I looked up, and locked eyes with her, then jumped back down into the dark recesses of my coffee. In that one look I saw the eyes ringed in red. She was beginning to cry; I could hear the gurgling as saliva coated the throat in emotion. I didn’t need to look up to see that she had problems forming words.

“Did you just say what I…thought you said?”

Ten points girl, you can still string a sentence. I should look up again. Look up, you tosser! Face the music!

Now it was my turn to speak.

“Tess, it’s not your fault. It’s…it’s both our faults.” Don’t be cliché, but try not to break her heart by saying you are sick to death of her. You need to balance cliché with some element of truth. Therefore, saying it was both our faults, was acknowledging that indeed it was, from your point of view anyway, all her fault. But I guess there was truth too, because it was somewhat your fault too. You aren’t happy with the person, and a relationship can only be built on happiness with each other. She’s lucky I’m not two-timing by now. “We’re just not right for each other.”

Another quick glance up, tears now are spilling out of her eyes. I pick up the napkin that came with the saucer, off to the side. Lucky I hadn’t put my coffee on it, otherwise there would be a warm circle of brown imprinted clearly on it. My mind pretended there was, and I had a fleeting moment of confusion, before I calmed myself, realising I was still holding this napkin, like a flag wave of defeat. It’s not very nice; it looks as though I’m humouring her. Don’t be so damn mean, I scolded myself in thoughts.

“Do you need something to wipe your eyes?” I ask, holding the napkin further out.

She bubbles the words. “Yeah.” A sob. “Thanks.” She wipes her eyes, and blows her nose with the napkin, and hesitates for a moment, not sure where to put the used napkin.

“I know we’ve been going out for –“

“A year!”

I chose my words more carefully this time. “A year, I know. But as I say, I feel we’re just not right for each other. We don’t have enough in common.”

“But we do! You like hugs.”

“True.”

“You like late night movies by the television, all rugged up.”

“Yes, but –“

“You don’t like my drawings, I know that.”

“That’s not right, I like your drawings a lot. You’re very talented.”

“Exactly!”

“No, not exactly. You are twisting my words.”

She stayed silent from then on. I gave myself a few moments, sipping my coffee. I was getting into the swing of things. The embarrassment was washing over. I felt I could handle this. I looked at her again - her face was distorted. She looked as if some form of emotional truck had run her over, leaving trails of tears down her face, an obscenely curled lip, all in all a whimpering wreck in its wake.

“I just feel we’re not right together. I’m just not looking for a committed relationship yet. I want time…time to think things over.” I stared at that coffee so hard, I swore there were patterns moving on the porcelain. “I just don’t see how we can continue if I’m not comfortable with you. I just feel there are more people I should be going for. I don’t want to say I’m bored with you but…I’m bored with you, at least I feel like that inside.”

I slowly raised my eyes, and met hers, which were burning with tears. Her lip quivered. One eye blinked. It was positively devilish, in all the wrong ways. “You bastard!” she screamed. “You miserable bastard! You say to me you’re bored with me, like I’m some bloody doll to be toyed with! I’m not made of fluff and buttons you know, I have these crazy little things called feelings! You bastard.” She picked my coffee up, and before I knew what was going on I was being drenched in it. She then threw the cup behind me, and lucky not to hit anyone else, it smashed through the café’s glass. We had been sitting outside, and now everyone was turned in their seats, staring at us. The smash of the glass and the resulting tinkle of the cup as it broke was a better wake-up than any caffeine could give. “Bastard! I’m a human being, I have feelings! Sick of your fucking doll now?” She slicked some golden hairs back behind her ear, got up out of her chair, walked around the table, and slapped me across the face. “Don’t you ever speak to me again, got it?” Then she left, leaving me covered in brown murky coffee stains, my shirt ruined, and all the eyes preoccupied with me.

I looked around, tried to address everyone in and around the café. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, getting out of my seat. “It’s nothing, really…she’s just a bit shook up.”

“Are you paying for this?” It was the manager of the café, standing behind the gaping hole in her glass door.

“Yes. Put it on my credit card.” I said, going to pay. A waiter came out and began to clean the seat.

“The charges will be in your mailbox. I have to get a quote on the glass.” The manager was an old, old woman on the inside. I had a feeling she kept her face on so well because she had the wrinkles smoothed out with some well-placed cosmetics. She couldn’t hide the fingers. They had creases all across them. I could see in her eyes that same look Tess had given me moments ago, a look of sudden intense hate. I snapped out of my thoughts when I saw that she was still speaking. “I’ll need your address sir, for the mailing. Pay for your coffee here though, probably a lot easier.” I could see she was holding a lot of self-restraint in her face. She probably could of slapped me too for what I had just said to Tess, and I would feel happy that she had showed what she was really thinking.

I paid for the coffee, both coffees (Tess had drunk hers prior to our little break-up, and told me how good it was) and tried to leave the scene as quickly as I could. I was fast-walking to my car, almost running. I threw the door open and jumped inside, starting up the engine simultaneously. I backed out of the little shopping village, my eyes trying to avoid all the people who were still staring at me from the café, and glued on my rear-view mirror, looking for any cars behind.

There were none. I backed out safely.

On the road back, I wasn’t sure where I was going. Well I was, to be honest, I was heading home – just the route I took was very strange. It resembled my normal route, but I took a lot of backstreets, twisting and winding their way across the normal route.
I guess it was because I was thinking. I was thinking about Tess, I know its stupid, I know its silly…but I couldn’t help it. It was going against everything I’d said. I had trouble computing it.

“I still want Tess.” I spoke the words to nobody; it must of looked odd, a driver talking to himself. I had neglected to reason all the good times I had had with her. Her astonishingly good looks, whenever she wasn’t crying or angry. Her understanding of any problem I had. It’s just…I was bored with her, what more is there to be said? You can’t have a relationship with someone you can’t be stuffed doing anything with. It’s…mean, that’s what it is. It’s mean on her, if you are spending time with her when you don’t want to be spending time with her. She can see it in your face; she should have seen it in my face the past few weeks, anyway.

“I still want Tess.” I said again, quelling the feelings into just those words. Despite all my ‘boredom’ with her, she’s all I got. I could go out and find someone else, but they may not be up to Tess’ standards. She sets pretty high standards in my book. Tess is funny, good looking (she can juggle times of being damn hot and times of being really cute), intellectual. You don’t come across one of those every day; you may come across a woman who retains one of those special features, but not all three. You come across those in a blue moon.

I felt my mobile phone’s bulge in my pocket as I waited in traffic. Tess would be in a bad mood, a terrible mood, a mood of crying and grief, a mood of anger, a mood of loss and a mood of confusion within the self. Actually, come to think of it, this mood was more like many bad moods compacted into one big huge bad mood.  This was a time of which the ex-boyfriend should not break with his presence, be that on a phone, by text or in person.

Still, this irrational feeling still shone through, I have no option but to take the chance to call her and make up. The feeling was too great…this want, this lust. It’s tearing me apart. But that image of her whimpered frame kept coming back, leaving its layer on top of this feeling. Would I be able to live with myself for causing her that much emotional pain? Could I ever have another date with her without having that whimpering withered wreck of a face transposed upon her pleasant features? My hand hesitated on its descent off the wheel to my phone.

My mind then wondered about how nice that year we had together had been. There were many things I wasn’t considering in this sudden change of heart, that is, the change of heart before this sudden urge to get with the woman I had up until recently wanted to close off all ties with. Her laugh was one I treasured, even the small smile she gave. I hung onto all that for all it was worth, and that worth was a lot.

I decided to wait until I got home, which was only two minutes away. The traffic thinned, and I worked my way over to the right turn off. I drove down the street two blocks away, turned, one block away…my home was coming up on the right. I lived with three others; we were renting it out from my friend’s parents, who lived far away. I drove in, stopped the car and grabbed the phone out of my pocket without a moment’s delay.

I had forgotten to turn off the engine in my swiftness. I turned the keys and cut the engine. I braced myself, and actually (although I was an atheist in beliefs) crossed myself silently. I scrolled down until I found the single name in the phone, “Tess” written plainly, and her number below. I had stared upon this little name in my mobile many times, now more than ever feeling the courage taken just to push the “call” button.
I pushed the green phone icon. The phone registered a connection was being made with “Tess”. I put the phone to my ear.

Connection sounds came through, I visualized the radio signal going out, bouncing off microwave antennae and then coming down to rest within her flip-up mobile phone. The dials began and I held my breath.

The phone went off in Tess’ bag. Her hand climbed its way over the curls and creases of her plush bed, fought to get the bag unzipped, fumbling with the zip. Tess went on all fours on the bed to have a closer look. The happy tune still emanated from in the bag. The phone must be at the bottom. Her hand dipped into the little handbag, searching through cosmetics and used tissues. The phone was retrieved out, fished out, her hand clutching it; it was indeed in the deep recesses of her surprisingly small-looking handbag. The other hand wiped the mucus from her nose, while the phone was being brought to her ear.

It came out in blubber, sounding more like a forced snivel than a word. “Hello?” Tess forgot to check who was on the phone, for if she had looked on the phone’s little LCD screen, she would of seen my name.

“Tess?”

“You bastard! I don’t want to talk to you.” The phone went dead, and the tones of a ‘busy’ line echoed through. I took the phone away from my ear and stared at it, as the screen wiped clear of the call, of any trace of my want to speak with Tess, clear of my attempt to fix things.

I then tried again. The phone cut out, made the ‘busy’ line tone. I tried again and again, and then again once more. Same thing, I had a feeling she had switched off the phone.
I would attempt to call her once a week for three weeks. But to no avail, I had scared away the deer of my affection.

“Be more affectionate next time, dear.” My friend whom I lived with told me in a grandma-like voice when I relayed to him the events.

“How?” I asked.

“If you wanted her, don’t break up with her, you nonce.” That was all he would say on the subject. He smiled and slapped me one on the back in a sarcastic manner.

I feel now that I am inclined to agree. I am a bit of an idiot sometimes. I had a real good girl and she slipped through my fingers…this time, by my own hand turning over and dropping her out. As I got myself another coffee, this time home brew, I could only think to myself:

Be more affectionate to the deer, you idiot.