Beautiful Disaster

Chapter 13: Anniversary Blues

“Shit!” I said. I cleanly forgot about Cap, I mean, Damian and I’s anniversary! I felt horrible. Not only was I my stubborn mind thinking about Cap every waking moment it could, I was shutting Damian out so much. When was the last time I’d been with Damian without thinking about Cap? When was the last time I’d been thinking about Damian, anyway? “I'm sorry, Bon, I gotta go.” I said before dialing Damian’s number.

Six hours later I was getting into Damian’s Porsche Cayenne dressed in my black Stella McCartney cheetah-print tunic, black Jean Paul Gaultier Eiffel Tower tights, beige Christian Louboutin Big Lips pumps and a cute chunky cuff.

Damian still didn’t know that I didn’t know about our anniversary so he wasn’t pissed that I’d called him late to wish him, which I was grateful for. He looked particularly dashing today in a black Burberry London Trench which sleeves were fashionably rolled up, a white James Perse v-neck T-shirt, blue dark wash Thom Browne straight-leg jeans and black Dior Homme Jersey & Leather high-top sneakers.

We were off to our annual trip to Snicker’s Baller Bar before we’d walk in South Marketa’s national park. Part of me was glad to be out with Damian, whereas part of me was wishing it was Cap I was out with.

The face-bricked building of Snicker’s Baller Bar stood out against the structured gray buildings of the district. Neon lights added a downtown feeling to the otherwise uptown, upscale district. Damian’s hands entwined with mine as I got out of the car, my skin warming with delight when our skins met. I smiled at him and we entered the building.

The building’s interior matched its grungy exterior. The walls were face-brick with a large plasma-screen television stood above the birch-wood bar that played MTV’s Jersey Shore. Various tables were set strategically around the restaurant-bar with a pool table in the distant corner.

My heart stopped when I saw Cap playing pool, his black eyes connecting with mine. I waved at him while Damian got us a table, but the wave wasn’t returned. Instead, his gaze dropped back to the pool table, completely ignoring me. He was dressed in his usual black-grunge chic, his tousled black hair falling over his face as he looked at the table, and took a shot at one of the balls. When he was done shooting the ball, he strategically avoided my face and took gulp from a bottle of what I thought was beer, that infamous Chloe-scowl set securely on his face. He looked way more on the edge than usual.

His actions undeniably hurt me to my inner-core, but I refused to let it get to me. This was Damian and I’s night, so if Cap was back on his cold-phase, then I don’t give a fuck. Okay, so I do give a fuck because he’d promised me he was over this whole thing, but obviously he wasn’t. I wasn’t going to let him see just how hurt I was by his betrayal, so, instead of crying, I looked away and locked my arm with Damian’s and tried my best to look happy.

Just my luck, we were seated in a position that I’d always be facing Cap – well, unless he moved. Throughout the dinner Cap kept looking at Damian with eyes that looked like they could kill. And if that wasn’t enough he utterly refused to meet eyes with me, the only evidence that he knew I was here was the persistent scowl engraved in his face.

If he didn’t like that I was here, then why didn’t he just leave?!

I breathed in and concentrated on Damian before sipping the Moët from the crystal champagne glass.

Damian looked particularly handsome tonight. His clean-shaven face brought out the soft cream color of his skin and his beautiful warm brown eyes looked like they stared into the depths of my soul with love.

Why was I concentrated on Cap that once again treated me like poop, while I was with the guy that loved me from the depths of his own soul? I loved Damian, which was no secret. But, then there was Cap who just last night treated me like I was the only girl in the world, but now looked like he wished I wasn’t alive. What was up with him?