Waiting For Sunday

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“So what do you think I should do? How should I handle this?”

“Just go for the jugular,” she muffles as a biscuit tumble inside her mouth. With a roll of my eyes, I snort a little and laugh, my legs crossed, my arms resting against my knees. With a sigh, I lean back in my chair.

“I don’t understand why this is so hard, I mean, you’ve made your decision,”

“I know, but do you realise that this is the first time I’ve been the one to break up with the other, not like it’s always been,”

She stops chewing, looking at me with the expression of a deer caught in headlights.

“Shit— didn't think of that,’

I nod, my lips pressed together in a thin line, my eyes widening just a little as I cock a brow.

“So can you see now why I’m such a mess and a coward, I’ve never broken up with someone before, it’s not something I’m used to doing,”

“But he needs to know,”

"I know he needs to know, don’t you think I don’t know that already,” I snap, rubbing my hands down my face, breathing in deeply before looking back to her, “Sorry,” I mutter, spinning my chair to face the desk in front of me, memories of Oliver and I still linger in the memory of the glass. My hand rests, my eyes fixated as I bite my lip.

“You need to tell him,” Amalia finally speaks.

“I know,”

“When are you supposed to see him?”


“TONIGHT!” She exclaims, almost falling from the chair as she stands.

“Yes— tonight,” I groan, a wave of nausea sitting heavy in my stomach.

“Honestly, as anxious as you are, and as terrible as you’ll feel, it won’t be forever, and you’ve already said that if he wants to still be friends after this, you know who won’t mind,”


“At all?”

“No, he promised me he’d still talk to him if the occasion ever arose, but chances are that won’t happen. If I know him, he’ll probably cut me off and ask me to leave,”


“Well— I think he will,”

“Either way, let me know the second you leave his apartment,”

“Fine,” I mumble as she turns and leaves the office, smiling widely as she greets the ladies who’ve arrived for her next class.

As I hesitantly step off the elevator, I can feel my pulse thrumming in my neck, my stomach knotting as I swallow a harsh and very apparent lump in my throat.

I had to get my story straight, I had to make myself sound sympathetic but not condescending. He’d take it the wrong way I knew he would. With a deep breath in, I wait as the doors to the elevator finally open, a bell sounding as I step out, looking towards his door I carefully make my way down the hall, each step feeling as though I were on my way to a cell. It sounded so ridiculous, the feelings I felt, but for someone who had never broken someone else’s heart, to me, this was a big deal.

With one final deep breath, I raise my hand, rapping my knuckles gently against the door. Silence enveloped me as I waited for him to answer. He knew I’d be stopping by, but for what purpose he wouldn't know, or at least— I didn’t think he’d know.

Rapping my knuckles against the wood of his door again, sudden and rushed footsteps draw closer and then I feel a sudden and overwhelming rush of cold run through my veins.

As the door opens, my heart sinks as I look at the devilishly handsome man stood in front of me.

“Hi,” he beams, pulling me into his arms as I struggle a “Hi,” back. My neck hung back as he squeezed me, a little zealously, but still comforting all the same.

“Shit, sorry, come in— come in,” he smiles now, letting me go, and standing inside, watching me as I gingerly walked inside. An overwhelming scent rushes to my nose. Garlic, tomatoes, spices and herbs all begin making my mouth water.

“You expecting someone for dinner?”

“Yes—, you,”


“Well I figured you’d come straight after work, you wouldn't have had time to eat and since it’s my day off, I thought I’d cook for you,”


Shit. How the hell am I supposed to do this now? How can I tell him I can’t be with him, in the romantic sense at least.

“It smells—, delicious,” I tell him, not lying as my mouth began to water.

“Come in, here—, let me take your bag and coat,”

“Thanks,” I smile to him, turning my back as he slides my coat from my arms and hangs it along with my bag. In panic, I pull my hair into a messy bun and watch him hanging back just a little as he disappears back into the kitchen.

“Go sit down, I’ll be back in a minute,” he calls from the kitchen,”


I smile looking around his apartment, noticing a few more books on the shelf spanning the entire wall. I wander over, the tip of my index finger brushing against the spines of the multiple books lining the shelves.

“When did you get these?” I call out, my eyes narrowing as I read each title.

“Some I got just recently,” he answers, knowing exactly what I’m asking about, “And some I’ve just collected over time,” he smiles as he walks out, a plate in either hand.

“Here you go,” he says, gesturing with his head as he settles the plates on the dining table.


“Yeah, hope you don’t mind, I just really wanted pasta,”

“It looks delicious,” I compliment, the smell trailing towards my nose and making my mouth water again.

“Oh— the salad,” he rushes, turning quickly and retreating back to the kitchen.

How the hell am I going to break up with him now? I can’t exactly sit here, food in front of me and tell him, 'Oh, by the way, I’m calling it off, whatever this thing between us is, I’m stopping it before it starts,'

With a roll of my eyes, I plaster a smile on my lips as he reappears, a wooden bowl in his hands, fresh green salad sat inside. Placing it on the table, I’m just about ready to reach out but not before he places another small plate in front of me, garlic bread lay in slices, the hot buttery and strong scent of garlic, making my mouth watering in equal measure as he scoops up his fork, “Tuck in,” he smiles and as I lift my fork, I smile taking a bite.

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