1.2 | Breakup Formula | ONGOING

04 | adulate

  

0 4

a d u l a t e

  

"This isn't working out."

I glanced up from the pile of plates I was busy balancing. "No, really?" I deadpanned.

He was pushing the button on the cash register. The change compartment popped out, and he pushed it back with a click. He did it again. Open. Close. Click. I watched him do that about five more times before nudging him away from the cash register altogether.

"Tell me, Addison," I said lightly, mirroring his posture by leaning against the counter and folding my arms. "Are you ill?"

He looked at me in surprise. "No. Why?"

"Physically disabled, perhaps?"

"What are you - "

"Allergic to dirty dishes?"

"Of course not - "

"Then why aren't you working?" I asked, the annoyance I felt surfacing in my voice. "The least you could do is help out. Mikel employed you for a reason, he didn't employ you to stand there and look good."

One of his eyebrows quirked up in amusement. "You think I'm good-looking?"

It took a huge effort to refrain from rolling my eyes at him. "Step one of dealing with the aftermath of a breakup: keep yourself busy," I said, flatly, and held out a dishcloth to him. "Drown yourself in work, or studies, anything - as long as it's not alcohol. Table fifteen over there has just been vacated. Get to work."

"Fine," he snarled, practically snatching the dishcloth and trudging towards table fifteen.

I watched him stack the plates, his hair falling into his eyes as he bent over the table, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. A part of me couldn't help but feel sorry for him. It wasn't the fact that he'd been dumped - no, we've all been there, it was a pretty universal experience. It was the fact that he seemed so utterly broken over it.

And, for a moment there, I saw myself in him.

Before I knew it, I found myself heading up to him. "Here," I said softly, nudging him aside and helping him with the plates. "I apologise if I seem harsh. But sometimes, we've got to be cruel to be kind."

Joey was silent for a moment and when he spoke, his voice was several notches lower. "She said the same thing, you know. When we broke up."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you, really?" he asked, his tone somewhat mocking, and I now had a feeling he was accessing me, instead of the other way round. "You see, the thing is, Kira, I'm starting to think you don't. That's why you've got this indifferent, no-nonsense vibe, that whole 'get this bloody thing over and done with and stop wallowing in pity' attitude."

I bristled indignantly. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying - I don't think you really understand what I'm going through."

Frowning, I set the plates down and looked up at him. "I did say I was sorry."

"Out of pity, not empathy. Have you ever gone through a breakup so terrible your head hurt just thinking about it? Have you ever had the other kids at school think you deserved it, because you'd broken so many hearts that you deserved to have yours broken as well?"