The Guy with The Tie

He was putting on his tie, looking at his own image reflected by the glass.

He knew there were people watching him, but he didn’t care. There was too much on his mind to give that too much importance. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of the street, in front of a bus stop. He just needed his clothes to look nice for the day. But even that didn’t seem to work out quite alright.

Damn, he couldn’t even tie properly. That was her fault, because she was used to do it for him every single morning. If she would have let him, at least once, now he wouldn’t have any problem.

He stopped, letting his arms go, annoyed at the tie and annoyed at himself.

Who was he kidding? He was incapable of doing it, that’s why she did it.

He tried again, slowly this time, pretending he hadn’t been struggling with it for the last fifteen minutes. He succeeded in achieving something decent and he decided to be happy with that. He put his jacket on and grabbed the suitcase and turned to the digital screen.

Thirteen minutes. Thirteen minutes until the bus came along.

He looked at his watch. He was going to be late.

He shrugged his shoulders and sat down.

The previous night had been horrible and he knew anyone could have told by the look on his face. It wasn’t the slightly purple under eye or his hair going a little crazy. It was his eyes, that caught his attention while looking at himself. He was sad. She kicked him out. How to blame her.

He looked at the street, as if some miracle could happen and the screen could have been mistaken. Wishful thinking. And the feeling came back. Together with the words.

I am sorry, he said to her, a million times. And he meant it every single one. He knew he wasn’t enough, but he had hoped for the best. Wishful thinking.

We can work this out. She had stopped crying then. Looking at him, he thought he had a real chance.

But he had made the mistake of saying that he was sorry again. And that was the moment when she threw the bottle of wine at him. The wine he had bought for her, the wine which had betrayed him. He never bought wine. There had to be a reason behind it.

He looked at his phone. No calls, no messages. Nothing.

He felt lonely. He spent the night at one of his friends’ house. He didn’t explain himself, he felt ashamed. And now, he felt lonely.

They were new for him, those feelings. He had trouble giving them a name, at first. He wouldn’t recognize them. But at last, he admitted to himself what they really were. And that only made it worse.

Eight minutes.

The time was going slowly. And he would have kept on going like that all day. Probably all week.

He hoped not all month. Damn, he could have not survived a whole month like that. A month without her.

He checked his phone again.

One message.

I am sorry.

It wasn’t her. It was the other her.

He smiled. A sad smile.

For the whole time, he didn’t know who to blame. He thought it was her fault, the girl who let him into her bed the other night. He thought it was the other girl’s fault, the one who kicked him out.

And now?

Now it was his own fault. But how to blame him? She was hot.

©thegirlinthe_dress