Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

I figured Tory had had enough time to stew by the next day. She was bound to be missing me, I reasoned.

Or was she? I mean, I hadn’t exactly been Mr. Amazing Boyfriend yesterday. Okay, I’d been an ass. And besides, she had Sebastian now.

I groaned. Listen to yourself, will you? You overreacted. Simple as. And now you’re paying the ultimate price. This is what you get for being a jealous twat.

With a grimace, I pushed all my negative thoughts forcefully out of my head. I was going to get her back. I had to.

Grabbing my mobile, I called Tory, hopping from foot to foot as it kept ringing. With every ring, I prayed it would be the last and she would answer on the next. But it appeared no one upstairs was listening because she didn't answer. Instead, I just got her voicemail.

“Uh, Tory, it’s me,” I said awkwardly. I hated talking to these things. “Fletch. Obviously. You know who I am.” I bit my lip, unsure what to say next. “Just… call me back when you get this. I- we- uh- we need to talk. Uh, bye.”

Cursing myself, I shut the phone and sank down on my bed. This was a nightmare. No, it was worse than a nightmare, because this was real. I wasn't about to wake up any time soon.

“I am so screwed,” I groaned.

And it was all my fault. As much as I wanted to blame it on someone else, I couldn’t. I had royally pissed up everything. Tory wasn’t answering my calls. She probably never wanted to see me again. And the worst part – she’d dumped me.

It was too depressing. To stop myself from thinking and obsessing about it, I pulled out my phone, checking for texts. Missed calls. Anything.

But there was nothing. My phone stared back at me innocently, the sunlight winking off the surface tauntingly.

Groaning, I buried my head in my hands. I couldn’t deal with this.

I dialled her number again, wishing and praying that by some miracle, Tory would answer. But she didn't. I only got her voicemail again. This time, I didn't leave a message. No need to put myself through that again.

“Okay,” I murmured, “time for plan B.”

Sighing, I crouched down and pulled out a box from under my bed, hidden between piles of dirty clothes and stuff I didn't want to even think about. There might have been a six-month-old pizza under there, if the smell was anything to go by. Sitting against my bed, I slid the lid off the box and placed it on the floor beside me. Inside was a dragon-shaped piggy bank. I had been saving up for Silverstein’s latest album, but I figured this was more important. I shook out the money inside – a couple of fivers and tenners and plenty of coinage – and tipped it into my wallet before shoving the box back under my bed.

I had a job to do now.

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I hopped off the bus in front of the shopping centre, considering my options. My first stop was a florist’s, and I remembered there being a flower stall in the middle of town. I was tempted to grab the first bunch and run – after paying, obviously – but I knew that wouldn’t cut it. Instead, I approached the stall somewhat warily, eying the bouquets.

“What’ll it be, son?” the stallholder, a blonde woman in her late thirties asked warmly. She winked at me. “For your girlfriend?”

“Ex,” I corrected. The word felt strange on my tongue, like a block of lead inside my mouth. It sounded stranger, especially applied to Tory.

“Ah,” the woman said knowingly. “So you’re apologising, eh? Trying to make it up to her?” I nodded glumly. She gestured to the largest bouquet of red roses. “You’ll be wanting some of these, then.”

I shook my head. “She doesn’t like roses.”

“What kind of girl doesn’t like roses?” She was incredulous.

“My girl,” I replied without thinking. “Ex,” I repeated.

“What does she like, then?” the stallholder asked.

I thought for a second. “Lilies.”

She looked at me strangely. “Lilies are for death.”

“She likes lilies,” I insisted.

“Okay,” she muttered. “She isn’t one of them Goth types, is she?”

Tory? A Goth? Never. Sure, she wore a lot of black, but always with something bright and colourful and contrasting. Emo was another label I wouldn’t apply to her; she could be miserable sometimes, and moaned about the shittiness of her life, but didn’t everyone? I really didn’t know how to categorise Tory. She was like that – individual. Her own person.

That only served to remind me how incredible she was and what I was missing out on and how stupid I’d been. My face furrowed into a scowl and I turned back to the woman.

“She likes lilies,” I repeated. “Red lilies.”

She nodded resignedly. “Red lilies it is, then.”

The stallholder handed me a medium-sized bunch of red lilies that fit comfortably into my budget. I still had a wad of cash left over. I handed her the money and was about to leave when she caught my arm.

“You can tell me to mind my own,” she said softly, “but whatever you’ve done, sorry goes a long way.”

I forced a smile. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

I traipsed down the street to Thornton’s, my next stop. Making a beeline for the boxes of chocolates, I squatted down in front of the shelves, peering closely at them. Tory didn't really have a preference when it came to chocolate – it was a case of anything would do – but I knew she didn't really like nutty chocolate. That in mind, I plucked a mixed selection box off the shelf, weighing it in my hand for no reason in particular. Glancing at the price, I winced only slightly; Tory was worth it.

After paying and stuffing the chocolates in the same bag as the flowers, I counted out the money I had left. To my surprise, I had more money than I thought. I had just about enough left to get her a little something special.

A small smile played at my lips as I headed across the street.

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I stopped outside Tory’s house nervously, looking up at her window. I could’ve sworn I saw the curtain twitch, but when I looked again, there was nothing. Steeling myself, I approached her door nervously. I made to press the doorbell, but my finger stopped short, hovering over the button. Biting my lip, I brought it up again and stabbed the button once.

I could hear the bell sound from where I was standing, the cheerful tone resonating throughout the house. Almost immediately, a blurred figure walked towards the door and hauled it open.

“Oh. Hi Eddie,” I said, somewhat disappointed to see Tory’s little brother standing there.

Make that not-so-little. He was the same height as me, and looked me squarely in the eye. He didn't look pissed at me, which I was thankful for. He may have been a year younger than me, but I didn't fancy my chances in a fight against him.

“Fletch,” he said evenly, folding his arms.

“Is- is Tory in?” I asked hesitantly.

He looked at me sympathetically. “No. She went out.”

“Oh. Right.” I had no reason to think he was lying, but somehow I knew he was. “Could you tell her I came by?”

He bit his lip, and looked round furtively before stepping out, closing the door slightly behind him. “Fletch, between you and me, she’s not out. She just- she just doesn’t want to see you,” he said flatly.

“Oh. Right.” My words were hollow, empty. Rather like me right now.

“Her exact words were, ‘I never want to see that stupid, jealous ass-twat ever again’,” he informed me matter-of-factly.

“Thanks, Eddie. I really needed to know that,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

“Could you… give her these?” I asked hesitantly, handing him the flowers and the chocolate. “And tell her- tell her I’m sorry.”

He nodded sympathetically, taking the stuff. “Will do, mate. Bye, Fletch.”

He retreated back into the house with a sympathetic smile. Wordlessly, I trudged away from the house. But something made me look back. Tory was standing by her window, looking right at me. I was too far away to make out the expression on her face, but she didn't look happy.

I turned away, and continued on my weary way.