Oh come on, he shouldn't bother me this much

I'm so annoyed. Why am I so upset Patrick is mad at me? Of course he's mad at me! I've freakin refused every offer he's given me! And since I've refused, that means...that means I don't want him. I don't.

No, I really don't. He's foolish.

So why...well, he's sweet. And he's so gentle to me. Of course I hate this. He hasn't been talking to me much. In fact, hardly at all. Last time...

My hands felt sticky pressed against the plastic leather booth. I shuffled my feet under the table, wishing the situation wasn't so painful. The other diners chattered happily, but after months of working at a restaurant, their noise didn't distract me. Patrick looked back and forth from me to the kitchen, obviously wanting to make sure his name wasn't being called to get back to work. I tried to speak again, and i knew he expected I was going to try to say something meaningful. I wanted to say something repairing, something to smooth the awkwardnes...but the situation was just too uncomfortable. He refused to make eye-contact with me, looking past my head or at the silverware i was sliding into napkins. All I wanted in that moment was to hear him say something sincere directly to me. Instead, I was decoding the background message of his careless commentary on his new cell phone: he didn't really want to speak to me. I tried to give him positive feedback, let him know that I really cared: I leaned forward, looked directly at him, even attempted a smile. But I had already lost my chance, Patrick no longer trusted me. We were physically close, sitting face to face in the same booth, and i could tell he wished he had more personal space-he still liked me, and sitting so near was painful.

With every second, it got worse. He wasn't paying attention to me like he used to. he wasn't giving me that grin I was desperate for, dimples and all, his eyes weren't looking down at me with subtle amusement. We both said useless words, about school and his latest party, nothing worthwile. The spoken message was about his new cell phone, the underlying message was that we didn't belong together anymore. Finally, he stood up, said he had to get back to work. I wanted to fight back, my attempt at some relational matience and keeping us strong had failed. But I was too sad to think of anything soothing. I shoved my hands beheath my thighs on the plastic booth and watched his broad retreating shoulders. My message wasn't going through, if he had understood me, he hadn't agreed. His message came through loud and clear: obviously, this relationship was in a ridiculiously fast process of deterioration.