the art scene has always been more of his territory, and yet it has never crossed her mind that she would see him. it has been far too long since she’s seen him last, the raindrops against the windows of the apartment buildings and the cars racing past her still echo in her mind as the night she’d left him for good. in a fit of anger, and the discovery that she’s no good in such a serious commitment, she never came back to him. pride has always been somewhat important to her, as part of a wealthy family, and she’s never had a lesson in crawling her way back to someone.
and so, she stopped being in circumstances where there’s a chance she’ll even see him, ditching the few mutual friends they had and exchanging them for friends who help her develop even more bad habits. she’s shoved him away, drinking and smoking to forget, though in the earlier stages, there’d certainly been days when she sees something that reminds her of him, and she lets out a small sigh and presses her lips together, consuming more of the substance that’s supposed to help her forget.
seeing him now has a monster truck running over her heart, and everything seems frozen. the tiniest of smiles grazes her features as he speaks, though unsure if she should be offended with his choice of words or not. at first, she presumes it’s her habits he’s speaking of, and a small sigh escapes her lips as he continues, going on about her not coming back to him after that night.
if there’s a book on ex etiquette, how to properly treat one’s former partner, she certainly hasn’t read it. CLUELESS on how to act, talk, and even think, the good stuff about their relationship and the bad come rushing in as she keeps a steady gaze on him. she’s never been good at situations as awkward as these, anyway, always thinking she’s better off in her game of avoidance than facing closure head on.
“ that’s funny, that you think i’d died and all… ”
his compliment has her pressing her lips together, before finally curving upward into a small smile. blue eyes are focused on his, and she sees the good things again, times when she’s fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder, in front of the television set with some rerun playing in the background.
“ thanks, ” she replies, a hand stretching to grab a snack on the table, a device that will be used for stalling if the need ever arises. “ you don’t look so bad yourself. ”
He had never been good at confrontation. If Ben could avoid something - burying it away so he’d never have to deal with it, or simply ignoring it until it went away - then that was exactly what he did. Problem solved. He had tried calling her once his anger had settled. It had been late, way past last call when he had figured she would return.
But she hadn’t.
He then sent her a text, not to say he was sorry ( which he was ) or to see if she was alright ( which he hoped ), but to simply ask: where r u?
And he had worried about her the rest of the night, what she could be doing to herself, but he could never seem to bring himself to follow up his text. No phone calls, no stopping by their old hangouts. Nothing. They were both stubborn and if she didn’t need him, w e l l. . .
He didn’t need her either.
So he got rid of all her things ( and boxed a few he couldn’t bring himself to part with ), scrubbed away everything that reminded him of her. It was easier that way, he had assured himself. And it had been.
❛ It hadn’t been for very long, but. . . ❜
He shrugs. It wouldn’t have surprised me, is what he doesn’t say.
There’s a pause in their painfully awkward conversation and Ben can’t help but bring his gaze back to Atria. Even after all this time, he’s still drawn to her. When he catches her moving towards him out of the corner of his eye, his heart flutters. He hates that his body would betray him, yearning for her touch when he knows better.
❛ Thanks. . . ❜
He moves slightly to allow her to reach the table ( of course that’s why she’s here -- not to see him ), letting her grab something to eat before
❛ Was that you out there playing Vivaldi? ❜
He jabs a thumb in the general direction where the ensemble had been playing only moments ago. But all he can think about is how he’s floundering, his mind drawing a blank, with what he’s supposed to talk to her about ( much less how he’s supposed to act ).
