Friday Figment: CALLOUS CRUSH

Photography by Anna Harrison

Nothing could have hurt her more than when I set that cold, sweating bottle of opaquely orange soda on her cork-board coaster. I made sure she couldn't give me the benefit of the doubt either, (she’s the sort of girl who, before ever believing that I had done such an intentionally cruel thing, would think I had accidentally leaned across the table to mistakenly set my own drink at her place).

Before she could let out that condescending giggle, the grin that said, “Look what you did, silly,” I already had the tarnished, vintage bottle opener the restaurant had provided, and I was prying open my own orange bottle with obnoxious grunts and a satisfying sigh when it hissed open.

I guzzled. I even winked at her when I did. Low, I know, but you find out just how willing you are to pull the cheap shots when you’re desperate.

She snatched her drink and shook it in my face. She croaked, as pitifully as if I’d just asked her to drink arsenic with me.

“Why? Why?”

It was best to finish my elixir in silence. Poor thing was still sobbing out her disbelief when I paid the bill, took the offensive drink from her coaster and walked out the door.

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