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He passes her in the street and smiles, she walks on by, the very picture of indifference.
He doesn't mind though, its all part of the act, for tonight they will meet. As they always do.

And then nothing else will matter.

He goes to work, at one time he hated this soul destroying lesson in autonomy, but now he does his tasks with a spring in his step. He rarely even looks at the clock anymore, this used to be a major fixture of his working day, watching the second hand dance around the clock-face, every sixty beats a minute closer to the end of his shift. Wishing his life away.

That was before he met her.
Now working his shitty job doesn't seem so bad.
It passes the time that would normally drag, occupies him until their next rendezvous.

That is, after all, why they call it an occupation.

"you are to never let anyone know of our affair" she told him one night, "I love you, but if you tell anyone about us, you will never see me again... besides, who would ever believe that i was with you?, they'd all just think you've flipped."
He has never told a soul, even though sometimes he just wants to scale the highest mountains and declare their love to the world... but he has no reason to doubt her words... after all, they are in love.

After work he does the same thing every night, like a ritual. He showers, shaves and brushes his teeth, and every night, the face staring back at him from the bathroom mirror is more and more gaunt and corpse like. He makes a point not to eat, except for with her, and this one meal a day diet has made the weight drop from him.
And the bags under his eyes do nothing to help his complexion.

Thats what you get for working all day and taking the girl of your dreams out all night, he muses to his reflection...

Their nightly dates are all that matter to him, some nights they go to the cinema, and watch anything thats showing, even subtitled films, it doesn't matter to him that the writing always seemed jumbled, curiously should they go to a restaurant, he found himself unable to make out the menus, he'd just chalk this up to fatigue, and order two of whatever the lady was having.
Sometimes they just go for a walk in the park by the light of the moon,the nights always pleasantly warm. Rain, wind or shine.

...After his shower, shave and self appraisal in the mirror, he lies on his bed and waits for the doorbell. sometimes instead of going out, they just lie in his bed, wrapped up in each other, entwined. He thinks he likes these nights the best.
Sometimes on nights like these, he fleetingly considers killing her then himself. The two of them together forever in death. Like Romeo and Juliet.
He never pondered this idea too much.
He wouldn't dream of hurting her.

Every morning his alarm wakes him up. Alone. She always leaves before he wakes, "so that no-body will see us together" she explained once when he posed the question. small price to pay, he reasons. He rubs his cheek where her parting kiss still lingers, and prepares for work.

On his way to occupation, he passes her in the street as usual, he smiles, and she walks past indifferent as always.
All part of the act.
Only twelve hours to go.

Learn more about this author, Anthony Featherstone.
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