Summary:
There’s something special about Amber: she’s beautiful, charming and fiercely independent. For two years our narrator loved her madly, but now’s she broken off the relationship. This story of love gained and lost tests the boundaries of what’s real and imagined when it comes to our deepest fantasies. This is a short story, consisting of just over 3,000 words.
Sample:
Amber wanted me to follow her.
It was only a glance thrown over her shoulder, but after two years of dating I knew that "come hither" look -- and the trouble that came with it -- all too well.
The look stopped me short and the rest of the crowd spilling out of the movie theater bumped against me as I stood there, torn with indecision. Technically, we were in another "cooling off" period, whatever that meant. Amber was the one who had proposed it (forced it, really), but that look she shot me was far from cold.
I watched her weave back into the crowd, one anonymous person among two dozen, but my eyes didn't leave the back of her head. My face flushed as a strange mixture of hope and despair washed over me.
I'll confess I knew Amber might be at the Friday night flick, but I wasn't looking for her. Not exactly. Mostly I wanted to get out of the house and find something to keep my mind busy. I was feeling a little sick to the stomach after days of gorging on self pity.
Amber had pushed me away many times before; I quickly learned this was going to be a hallmark of our relationship. She enjoyed her little games and I was too much of a sucker (with no self esteem, as The Offspring would say) to complain.
But this time had seemed more final. Those last words she said to me were more hurtful than my unanswered calls and texts. All my usual methods of winning her back--the notes, the flowers, the gifts--went unacknowledged. It was like we had never existed as a couple. After a few days of struggling to find a hidden meaning in her words and waiting for her call, the reality that it was over, truly over, sunk me like an anchor.
For two weeks now I had drifted through life, leaving the house only for work and a few basic groceries. My nights were spent staring for hours at the ceiling or the mindless flashing images on TV. The few times I was able to focus on something other than Amber, some photo or silly sentimental trinket scattered around the house always started the memory reel playing again.
The mind can only take so much of this nonsense though before it rebels. Her rejection at times was almost a physical pain, but I'll admit a certain side of me also savored the pathos and depression. Playing the role of victim can be addicting and the rational side of my mind was finally breaking through and fighting against it.
I knew from experience that walking in the cold does wonders to clear the mind and I was desperate for amnesia tonight. The destination didn't matter as long as I could focus on something other than Amber.
With considerable effort I launched myself out of the recliner and grabbed my coat from the floor. The cold was immediate and startling as I stepped outside and I considered turning around for my gloves. But the thought of returning to the depressing cave of my apartment -- and the siren call of my warm, soft bed -- was too dangerous. I shook my head and kept walking, hands jammed in my coat pockets against the searching cold. At that moment, I would have said letting Amber walk away was the biggest mistake of my life. But going out that night was about to top my list of regrets.
It was only a glance thrown over her shoulder, but after two years of dating I knew that "come hither" look -- and the trouble that came with it -- all too well.
The look stopped me short and the rest of the crowd spilling out of the movie theater bumped against me as I stood there, torn with indecision. Technically, we were in another "cooling off" period, whatever that meant. Amber was the one who had proposed it (forced it, really), but that look she shot me was far from cold.
I watched her weave back into the crowd, one anonymous person among two dozen, but my eyes didn't leave the back of her head. My face flushed as a strange mixture of hope and despair washed over me.
I'll confess I knew Amber might be at the Friday night flick, but I wasn't looking for her. Not exactly. Mostly I wanted to get out of the house and find something to keep my mind busy. I was feeling a little sick to the stomach after days of gorging on self pity.
Amber had pushed me away many times before; I quickly learned this was going to be a hallmark of our relationship. She enjoyed her little games and I was too much of a sucker (with no self esteem, as The Offspring would say) to complain.
But this time had seemed more final. Those last words she said to me were more hurtful than my unanswered calls and texts. All my usual methods of winning her back--the notes, the flowers, the gifts--went unacknowledged. It was like we had never existed as a couple. After a few days of struggling to find a hidden meaning in her words and waiting for her call, the reality that it was over, truly over, sunk me like an anchor.
For two weeks now I had drifted through life, leaving the house only for work and a few basic groceries. My nights were spent staring for hours at the ceiling or the mindless flashing images on TV. The few times I was able to focus on something other than Amber, some photo or silly sentimental trinket scattered around the house always started the memory reel playing again.
The mind can only take so much of this nonsense though before it rebels. Her rejection at times was almost a physical pain, but I'll admit a certain side of me also savored the pathos and depression. Playing the role of victim can be addicting and the rational side of my mind was finally breaking through and fighting against it.
I knew from experience that walking in the cold does wonders to clear the mind and I was desperate for amnesia tonight. The destination didn't matter as long as I could focus on something other than Amber.
With considerable effort I launched myself out of the recliner and grabbed my coat from the floor. The cold was immediate and startling as I stepped outside and I considered turning around for my gloves. But the thought of returning to the depressing cave of my apartment -- and the siren call of my warm, soft bed -- was too dangerous. I shook my head and kept walking, hands jammed in my coat pockets against the searching cold. At that moment, I would have said letting Amber walk away was the biggest mistake of my life. But going out that night was about to top my list of regrets.
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