"Would you please stop doing that?" Greg asked her softly, with just a touch of anger coming through his normally pleasant façade. "Just put the glass down."
Sara despised his concern, and almost downed another shot to make him shut up. She hated how his normally clear innocent eyes reflected the fact that she had lost control. It was almost like she was at the wheel again, about to hit him instead of the inanimate street pole. Instead of bleeding out like a good boy, he just pushed on her car and stared at her with those eyes that reflected recklessness.
"How did you find me here?" she whispered, more to the bartender than to Greg. She couldn't bear to look into those eyes.
"Who says I was looking for you?" he answered, a dose of sarcasm slipping in. For all the times she had ignored him, she still expected him to be infatuated with her. Then again, maybe she was just paranoid.
Accusingly, "I heard about your little incident last night Sara." She still wouldn't meet his eyes, and all he wanted was to make her listen. "God dam nit Sara! You were practically arrested, and you're out drinking the next day? Do you want to be fired!?"
"Maybe it's not all about the work, Greg," she said, emphasizing his name the way he had hers. She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he was mildly surprised to see a few tears glistening on her cheekbones. He didn't know when she had started crying, and the drops reminded him more of condensation than actual tears.
She took a deep breath, temporarily stalling his train of thought. "You know, when I was in high school I lived across from this kid who was high all the time. He fascinated me - I guess it was the whole 'bad boy' thing." Greg smiled, picturing Sara pining over a druggie. "One day he came up to me, and instead of saying something intelligent like I hoped he would, he just said, 'Never smoke cigs, they make you addicted.'" She exhaled, and it came out sounding like a weak attempt at laughter. "I remember thinking, how can you be so stupid? How can you deliberately let your control be taken like that?" She looked him in the eyes again, but this time it was her silently pleading him to listen.
"Greg, I think I've lost control."
At first, he said nothing, and she was afraid that she's shared too much. All of a sudden, she felt too exposed. She turned her head back away from him, toward the friendly yet self-destructive bar.
Greg noticed, as she turned her head, that the tears were still lingering on her bare cheek. He cautiously reached up toward her face, but she still flinched, surprised by his actions. He placed his other hand on her shoulder and gently touched the water on her cheek. The droplets transferred themselves to his fingers, and he wiped them neatly on his pants.
"You're going to be alright Sara" he said, all of the innocence and reassuring back in his eyes.
She reached up and felt her own cheeks, still warm from his touch. They were dry. She smiled, the first real one of the night.
"That's better," she confessed to him.
Sara despised his concern, and almost downed another shot to make him shut up. She hated how his normally clear innocent eyes reflected the fact that she had lost control. It was almost like she was at the wheel again, about to hit him instead of the inanimate street pole. Instead of bleeding out like a good boy, he just pushed on her car and stared at her with those eyes that reflected recklessness.
"How did you find me here?" she whispered, more to the bartender than to Greg. She couldn't bear to look into those eyes.
"Who says I was looking for you?" he answered, a dose of sarcasm slipping in. For all the times she had ignored him, she still expected him to be infatuated with her. Then again, maybe she was just paranoid.
Accusingly, "I heard about your little incident last night Sara." She still wouldn't meet his eyes, and all he wanted was to make her listen. "God dam nit Sara! You were practically arrested, and you're out drinking the next day? Do you want to be fired!?"
"Maybe it's not all about the work, Greg," she said, emphasizing his name the way he had hers. She finally raised her eyes to meet his, and he was mildly surprised to see a few tears glistening on her cheekbones. He didn't know when she had started crying, and the drops reminded him more of condensation than actual tears.
She took a deep breath, temporarily stalling his train of thought. "You know, when I was in high school I lived across from this kid who was high all the time. He fascinated me - I guess it was the whole 'bad boy' thing." Greg smiled, picturing Sara pining over a druggie. "One day he came up to me, and instead of saying something intelligent like I hoped he would, he just said, 'Never smoke cigs, they make you addicted.'" She exhaled, and it came out sounding like a weak attempt at laughter. "I remember thinking, how can you be so stupid? How can you deliberately let your control be taken like that?" She looked him in the eyes again, but this time it was her silently pleading him to listen.
"Greg, I think I've lost control."
At first, he said nothing, and she was afraid that she's shared too much. All of a sudden, she felt too exposed. She turned her head back away from him, toward the friendly yet self-destructive bar.
Greg noticed, as she turned her head, that the tears were still lingering on her bare cheek. He cautiously reached up toward her face, but she still flinched, surprised by his actions. He placed his other hand on her shoulder and gently touched the water on her cheek. The droplets transferred themselves to his fingers, and he wiped them neatly on his pants.
"You're going to be alright Sara" he said, all of the innocence and reassuring back in his eyes.
She reached up and felt her own cheeks, still warm from his touch. They were dry. She smiled, the first real one of the night.
"That's better," she confessed to him.