Ghosts ✔

068 • Fye

Fye had changed clothes three time before she had gone to the bar. It wasn't something she had done before; asking a guy to have a drink with her. Not that she lacked the abilities; her sister was the biggest slut she had ever seen. They shared the same blood, so somewhere deep inside she had to know how to hit on a man. She had never been very successful around men. Sure, there had been boyfriends, but they had always taken the initiative. 

And now she had made herself pretty for a man whose name she hadn't even known three days ago. Someone she had asked out at the grave of his former lover. She must be nuts. It had never been her intention to ask him out; the question had just slipped her lips. And after he had agreed with modest enthusiasm, she couldn't get away from him fast enough, afraid for a new type of awkwardness. 

And now she was sitting here, at a booth in Harvey's, feeling so nervous she was half an hour too early. Every time she glanced at the clock, the hand barely seemed to have moved. Of course she was focusing the attention on herself by sitting here all alone. 

After fifteen minutes a man who was at least ten years older than she, felt bold enough to sit down next to her. "You want something to drink honey?" Although it was still early, the smell of alcohol was surrounding him. 

"I'm waiting for someone," she answered, hoping he would leave. She kept staring persistently at the door. 

"While waiting we can have some fun, right? You and me?"

She shivered when he placed his hand on her knee. Quickly she shook him off. "Leave me alone. I'm not interested."

Again she focused her attention at the door, by now she was mentally begging Juice to hurry up. All she wanted now, was him saving her from this creep as if he was some kind of knight in shining armor. 

Luckily the man took his hand away, although he didn't leave the table. 

. . .

Finally it was 8 PM. The man was sitting at the bar again, even though she could still feel his scorching gaze. It had been stupid to come so early, all alone. That she felt so nervous, wasn't making any sense either. They would just have a drink together, talk a bit. His fiance had just died, he wouldn't be in for a new romance anytime soon anyway. 

The clock showed 8.15.

8.30

9.00

Juice didn't show up. 

Again she rejected that nasty guy. 

And she was still waiting – maybe he had mistaken the hour. 

At 9.30 she stood up and left the bar. Tears were stinging in her eyes. It was ridiculous, crying because of a man she barely knew. But she had waited two hours in a bar for someone who hadn't shown up. 

Maybe he had just forgotten. He was mourning; he wouldn't be the first one forgetting things. 

But when she didn't see him at the graveyard in the weeks that followed, she understood it had been a conscious choice to stay away from the bar. The only reason he had probably agreed to meet her there, was to get rid of her. And with good reason. Who did that – sitting down next to strangers on a graveyard? He undoubtedly believed that she was strange; he had rescheduled his visits to make sure he wouldn't see her again.  

She felt ashamed. 

Still she couldn't get him out of her head. Again and again she saw him sitting there, all alone in the rain, cold and numb. It hadn't been some physical attraction that had convinced her to sit down next to him. She had believed there was some connection between them, a connection neither of them understood. Now she realized that it had only existed in her imagination.