Ok, what I'm going to tell you now may sound rough to say, Rose, but that person... Michael Stormfield's stalker, remember, saw, and told me the story this way, so I'm doing nothing more than reproducing what I've heard, get it? Don't judge me.
Michael, as the night went on, entered a more passionate phase, and stopped flirting with Cindy only to learn more about her with ardent curious questions, until she was seriously disconcerted, a little irritated and wondering why he was so insistent. This stalker I told you... they noticed that college ginger's interest over the pathetic couple by his side, until he was only abstractedly watching them with a sarcastic bitter smile in his dry lips and that beautiful no-freckle face with a dark aura around it. Michael was too in love to realize his hostile stare – how the brotherly comprehension had disappeared absolutely and given space to a photographic-stare sparkle, that wasn't very friendly in general terms.
But oh, he didn't notice. Cindy was his everything, and also had taken his everything. Without her, that would be an annoying café, with annoying people, nasty food, and nasty cushions, and would never ever plan to go there. But no... Cindy made all look perfect, and he would naturally wish that she'd eat her cherrypie slower, that the night would go on forever, and so he'd watch her eating with delight for infinity.
But even the hotties' wishes end up being ignored sometimes, you know, and Michael had to face the fact that his sweetheart was in a hurry to leave, after she read her phone and was swollen up from reality by it completely. How Michael wanted that phone to disappear! And though there she was, messaging a stranger, a person that (now he admitted it) could never love her more passionately than him, who would do anything for her, at least so he believed, pathetically as the illogical youths are. Cindy, ignorant of the emotional damage she was causing, finished her cherrypie, that was delicious, and put away the cellphone to ask him:
"So, you're really going to pay everything, sir?"
"Yes, I am. Don't even try to argue" he said resolutely. "You won't come later saying that I owe you something, anything kinda?" Cindy insisted carefully, analyzing closely his face with her long lashes and purple eyes behind the glasses, which slipped down as she leaned forward.
"Do I look like I'm the person who could do such a thing? Is this the way you see me?' he asked passionately, but lowering the tone after he noticed some people looked at him angrily because of the screams... what that little witch made him do, losing his control like that, when he had already determined to himself he wasn't going to lose for her!
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have supposed that not even for a second, after you let me order whatever I wanted" Cindy said, embarrassed. "No, I am the one who should be sorry. I didn't have to say it that way" Michael sighed, looking away.
"Oh, then" she got up on her feet softly "I have to go home. My mother doesn't let me stay out late, and actually" she whispered, turning a little rosy "I didn't tell her it was with a boy I was going out, otherwise she'd never allow me to come."
Michael held her hand as she lowered her voice and looked at him shyly, wondering what that was. He took that hand to his mouth and bit the side of her little finger softly as a bye-bye; she didn't even move her hand, that was so cold, and she didn't look scared or excited because of that gesture. Only a smile – maybe a grin, mocking at his childishness – moved her cheeks, as she showed a little of her pearled teeth. "Is that your all?" she seemed to ask, but her lips didn't even move. Michael convinced himself it was only impression of his crazy head, and by this time she took her hand away, and then touched the little finger on his forehead reprehensibly, saying "You're funny, Mr Stormfield. I like you."
And, after letting him have the brief touch of her straight long black hair, she waved bye-bye and left the café by the front door, with her face exposed and her hair floating around her like of a fairy princess's. Michael fell again in the chair watching her departure and wondered why she was so rude, and why she wouldn't let him take her home. But the final score of the bill was enough to relieve, if not his feelings, at least his pocket. And even after he had paid, and given almost $ 10.0 as tip for the waitress, that was sure as rapturous as him with the surprise, he stood there, staring blankly at the door by which Cindy had disappeared some time ago, like a petal blown away by the wind, a dream swept away by the rays that announce the morning. He was so pathetically focused on thinking about her and making these stupid comparations that his cheeks were red, half emotion and half fever, and his senses were off for everything except for his own mind, full of the idea he had created of fairy princess. He was starting to compose a poem for her, when he was suddenly asked if there was some problem, by another waitress, that wasn't in such a happy mood as her companion, maybe because she hadn't earned $ 10.0 extra that night and wasn't resentful to tell the handsome lad that other people would appreciate to sit in that very table, and so if he wasn't using it it'd be good if could get out, etc., etc., all through smiles and gentle manners, that are of crucial importance for a waitress.
