#bathroom tiles

He’d said he’d meet her at the restaurant.

She wasn’t ready for him, wasn’t ready for that knock on the door, while she was still half dressed, everything done above the waist, but everything below in a state of disarray. At least, that’s how she saw it. But when he knocked, she answered. Every damn time.

He’d said he’d fucking meet her at the fucking restaurant.

This wasn’t fair. He knew that. Knew that she took an age to get ready, knew that she’d have made sure she had enough time, made sure that every fucking hair was in it’s perfect place on her head, that each little bit of makeup was perfect. It was all for him, and he wasn’t even patient enough to wait?

He’d said he’d meet her at the restaurant, but he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t wait because she put so much effort into looking her best for him, when they both knew it would only last as long as it took them to eat, perhaps even shorter, if he decided to get sadistic over the table. 

So he skipped dinner, because he could. And because she enjoyed it, as flustered as she got.