Killer Queen | Ben Hardy

8. seaside rendezvous

    I'm nervous; why am I nervous? The doorman holds the entrance door open for Roger and I as we step in to some sophisticated restaurant—a restaurant I can't even pronounce the name of.
    "Welcome to the Allumette Étang, what is the name of your reservation?" Asks the host in an obviously fake French accent.
    In a blur, we're being escorted to a cloth-covered table. A quartet plays from the back of the room while the warmth from the grand fireplace fills the dining area. And somehow, amongst the chaos, I find myself sitting across from Roger.
    Tonight is our first 'date,' by the conventional meaning of the word. He told me nothing of his evening plans, only to 'wear something nice.' I, in turn, landed on some ugly yellow dress—one that, may I add, isn't even mine. Daisy lent it to me on account that all my outfits were too 'cut-rate,'—her words, not mine.
    Right about now I'm regretting letting her convince me into wearing this yellow monstrosity: it's too short and I absolutely hate yellow. I must look like an over-sized lemon. Roger tells me I look beautiful, although I know I'm out of place. In my two-sizes-too-small dress and knock-off pearls, I look like I just arrived from the island of misfit toys. All these people surrounding me belong—I, just some mundane waitress, do not.
    On the other hand, Roger looks amazing. It's the most dressed up I've ever seen him: he's in a white button-up with a navy blue suit jacket. He's even wearing a tie. It's the most effort I've seen him put in to his appearance, and it makes me wonder: what is so special about tonight?
    Why did Roger spontaneously spring this evening on me? His reservation must have been made at least two weeks prior, so he had to have been planning this night for a while. But why then only tell me of his plans two nights earlier?
    My theory is that he's going to formally address our relationship. We've been 'seeing each other' for over two months, but haven't officially announced an exclusive relationship. Freddie says he's apprehensive to make commitments in that area, so maybe he's just waiting for the right time?
    Daisy has a theory of her own: she thinks he's going to propose. I highly doubt that. But that's just Daisy being the idealist that she is.
    "How are you?" Roger begins our conversation with the usual tedious formality. However, he tugs at his collar and I immediately sense an uneasiness about him. Is he nervous too?
    "I'm alright." I try to cross my legs but am unable to as the fabric threatens to tear; damn this dress.
    We continue our meager chitchat, each of us dancing around what the other wants to say. It's obvious there's something on Roger's mind, but I'm too scared to ask and he's too scared to tell.
    The waiter takes our order, and it's not until I get a glass of wine in my hand that my words flow more freely. "Rog, how on Earth are you paying for tonight?" The question has been on my mind all evening. By no means have I forgotten the squalor in which he is currently living. Although his album released a few weeks ago, I know it's hardly sold enough copies to give him more than two pennies to rub together.
    "Don't worry about that," he responds with slight amusement—like I'm foolishly focused on the most trivial things. Then he adds with a half-smile, "Just enjoy tonight." But there's something about his smile that seems off, something that I can't quite place. Maybe that third glass of wine is finally getting to me.
    The food arrives, then dessert, and even with more wine, Roger doesn't mention anything that I don't already know. We joke and laugh but I'm still waiting for him to deliver that big news—whatever it may be.
    Before the night ends, we're walking out of the restaurant, each full and a little tipsy. But even in my state of mind, I sense the same anxiousness in Roger from earlier that night. He's being cold towards me—no, not cold, just distant. He doesn't reach for my hand or tuck that stray strand of hair behind my ear. In fact, he makes sure to stand at least a meter away from me at all times. Well, I guess the dress is worse than I thought.

~•~

    After he drives me back to my apartment, he parks on the side of the street and helps me out of my seat.
    We're walking up to the front entrance and I'm finally starting to feel at ease. I sense Roger beside me, but then he stops once I reach for the door handle. I turn towards him, "Aren't you going to come in for a bit?"
    His eyes look everywhere but mine. "I can't—I have an early morning tomorrow."
    He's lying; I know he's lying. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and I want to scream at him to just look at me.
    "Listen, Danielle," he takes a step closer, finally closing the distance between us. "I really like you—"
    "You're being ridiculous, just come inside for a moment," I'm trying to turn toward the door but he grabs my hands and forces me to look at him.
    I can see his heart breaking through his blue eyes, and I suddenly feel suffocated by his gaze. The ocean in his eyes is pouring over me and I'm drowning in my own dread. He opens his mouth to speak and I want to tell him to shut up, for I know what he's about to say is going to hurt. But instead, he wraps his arms around me. He's clinging to me like he's afraid I'm going to disappear, and I selfishly wonder what it would be like to melt into his embrace and stay there forever.
    He loosens his grip long enough for me to look up at him. I'm searching his eyes for answers because I don't understand. But I'm afraid that the sadness in his eyes is about to physically break me.
    Before I can speak, his lips are on mine with an intensity that could burn out the stars and pull them back toward the earth. I should feel like the wings at my back will take me to flight, but instead, the lead at my feet centers me back on that cold street corner. And no amount of wishful thinking can wash away the pit quickly forming in my stomach.
    He pulls away and just stares at me. I'm willing him to say something—anything—because the silence between us is slowly driving me mad.
    "Danielle, I—" My breath catches in my throat in fear that he's going to say those three words—those three words I'm feeling too: I love you. But he stops himself, pauses, then changes his mind. "Just know—just know that I care about you." His eyes betray what his lips won't say: he's saying goodbye.
    I nod. There's so much I want to say, but my words stay lost somewhere deep in my throat; there's nothing I can say to change his mind. He pulls me in for a last embrace and I can't stand the finality of it all. I close my eyes and try my best to savor the warmth of his body and the smell of his jacket. Maybe if I stand still enough, I can hold on to this moment forever. I'm stealing a little piece of eternity and sticking it in my back-pocket, because right now, in his arms, I'm whole. And I'm terrified that if I even take a breath, I'll wake up from this moment and everything will have just been a dream.
    But when I open my eyes, I'm alone on the street corner. He's gone, but was he even ever there?

~•~

author's note:
that's the end guys, thanks for reading!
kidding, this is only the beginning...  it will all make sense soon 

also conspiracy theory:
dani imagined everything w/ rog
and she's actually crazy!