I watched on as Mo practically threw herself over Milo. She had obviously been drinking a lot more than just the half empty bottle of Vodka I’d seen her take from the bar earlier. It was obvious she was upset, but I couldn’t help feel that she was still, perhaps, doing this down to the state she’d gotten herself into. Then again, I couldn’t say anything; I’d drunk too much tonight too.
I’d learnt one thing though: they had been together. She wanted him back, but he wasn’t sure. I could see though, in his eyes, that he was tormented between what his head was telling him he should do and what his other head, down below, wanted him to do. Typical.
I felt uncomfortable being sat on the outline of their lovers’ tiff and decided it would be best if I just remove myself from it completely. I looked over at Milo for one last time. He had his face in his hands with Mo glued to his side, a gentle finger caressing his cheek and flirtatious tales being whispered delicately into the caverns of his mind. I sighed, turning away from the bar and making my way to the exit. My heels clacked against the floor. I wish I hadn’t worn heels.
“Sophia?” I heard him shout from the bar. I didn’t turn around. I continued on in the same pace and refused to look back at him. There was no future there – not that it was possible – and looking back would only make me feel worse than I already did, “Sophia!”
I was out the front door, a few stragglers having a final cigarette before they retired to their homes, when he spun me around and forced me to look into his hurt eyes.
“Why are you leaving?” he asked me, his eyes were wild and disappointed. I closed my own, shaking my head, forcing my tears not to fall down my cheeks. I would not cry over a man I didn’t know. It wasn’t right. It was me.
“Mo needs you,” I mumbled, reopening my watery eyes and looking directly into his own, “Go back to her, Milo.”
“I don’t want to.” He answered in a small, weak voice. I couldn’t be sure if he was crying, or next to, but there was something in his tone of voice that made me feel bad for what I was saying, though completely necessary it was. I was no good for him. If he was to find out what I did for a living he’d drop me in a second, leaving me in the gutter and never looking back. I couldn’t bare that heartache and I didn’t want that dreadful fate on him either.
“Yes you do. She wants you, Milo, and you want her. It’s as simple as that.”
“I want you.” He retaliated, taking me into his arms and kissing me forcefully, yet tenderly, on the lips. I tried to pull away but I melted into his arms, desperate never to leave the feeling that was suddenly brewing inside of me: passion.
When I eventually had to pull myself away from him, there was a brief moment that I looked into his eyes and saw the real Milo. He was vulnerable, wore his heart on his leave and was the biggest hopeless romantic I’d ever met; if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have come chasing after me and kissed me like that otherwise.
A flash caught my attention from somewhere to the side of me. I glanced over to see one of the stragglers retrieving a Polaroid from his camera. Even before it had developed, I knew that she’d taken it of the two of us.
“Goodbye, Milo.” I murmured, tearing myself from his arms and leaving. I daren’t look back again for fear that I would fall further into the dark place that ordinary people would feel giddy about. Rule number three: I mustn’t, under any circumstances, fall in love… because look where it had gotten me.