As I unload the car, my love quickly made for the door, leaving me alone with the grocery bags. Usually she'll help me with the indefinite quantity but today isn't one of those days. Her period is still a week away, so I can't blame it on her emotional state.
Ever since she ran into that Misha fellow at the Supermarket she's been a little down in the dumps. I'm not completely sure as to why because she never informed me about the gravity of their relationship but, taking her state of mind into motion, it seems to be more then meets the eyes. I only know a few things about that guy and it's merely the matters that she informed me about when my dearest Genevieve had been heavily under the influence of alcohol.
I recall how she admitted to me about their illegal affair in high school (apparently he used to be her English teacher) but according to her it had been merely platonic those days. I can't help but wonder if maybe they've had a deeper connection on a later stadium in life, when her age played a less crucial part. I don't want to pry or force her into an uncomfortable discussion, though I'd be lying to myself if I say that I'd rather stay on the darker side of the moon.
The old feeling rushed forward and fills my head with a golden reminiscence, at the recollection of our first meeting. I remembered thinking how fair she looked. Her eyes spoke full novels of heartache and grief. I remember thinking how such a perfect lady could feel like everything is falling apart. Wondering how somebody as young as her could think that this world is better without her presence in it. She may have never said it out loud but I could read her like a book from that very first encounter. I remember sitting down and eventually introducing myself because I knew right there and then, that I had to see her smile even if only for a little while.
***
Quickly I sat down beside the beauty queen. She seemed troubled with a shot glass at hand. She licked up the salt that she poured into the palm of her hand before throwing the liquor down her throat and finish it of by biting down on a slice of lemon. She can't be much older then twenty-one. "Bartender, another shot for the lady. And I'll have an Old fashioned Cocktail with Knob Creek on the Rocks," I ordered.
He turned to the assorted range of alcohol on the cabinet behind him and took down a bottle of Bourbon Whiskey. After popping the top he poured the liquor over a glass of ice before refilling my lovely companions shot glass which she quickly emptied in a single gulp. "A beautiful lady such as yourself isn't supposed to be drinking alone," I told her with a smirk.
She turns her full attention towards me and said: "And next you give the hot blonde a key card to your expensive hotel room where you plan to indulge in a series of forbidden acts to which you cut her throat and leave her to bleed out on the luxurious bed." I look at her in utter dismay, completely surprised by her blunt response. I cleared my throat, to rid myself from the uncomfortable lump.
"You must not have met too many decent men yet, but I can assure you that I'm not that type of man," I converted. "Which type of man are you then?" She questioned attentively. "Well for starters, I'm not one of those with the fuck-them and leave-them ego. Guess it's save to say that I'm optimistic, reliable and honest above all else." My answer drew the first genuine smile from her. She held out a hand and as I firmly folded mine around her soft little one, she introduced herself: "Genevieve Roberts." "Kyle Gonzalez," I mimicked her action.
***
I shook the memory out of my head. Today four and a half years ago, I've met the beautiful Miss Roberts drinking alone at that bar. I could tell by first glance that she was being held together by wax and glue. That day I made it my life mission to put her back together, piece by piece. Little by little.
After years of trying, she finally agreed to accompany me to a fancy work function, which over time turned into a few dates. Today I'm engaged to that gorgeous, once shattered, maiden. Genevieve and I have a different kind of relationship; then other birds of a feather. As much as I would like to prove my love to her, I'm granting her the wish by taking it slow. Sure we would have ourselves a kissing spree every once in a while but as soon as it tends to get too much for her, she pulls away from me. Informing me every time that she wants to wait; until after the wedding. This little detail makes our relationship completely platonic. No sexual orientations and even too much kinship aren't allowed, but still I love her with all of her flaws.
Whenever she had too many shots or even mixed her liquors; she would always talk about that other man, the one I had the pleasure of meeting today. A sliver of jealousy nestles within me at the thought of Genevieve giving herself willingly over to Misha Anderson, while I have to wait until our wedding night.
As I enter the house that we share, I instantly noticed her sunken form on the sofa in the living area. This position instantly reminds me of that day so many years ago. I've never liked seeing her in this state and I don't think that I would ever feel comfortable with it, either. "Honey are you okay?" I asked sympathetically. She lift her head up and looked me straight in the eyes as she answered in a sarcastic manner, "Just splendid!" I shuffled uncomfortably as I take in her expression. Had she been crying?