Playing Catch

She put on that pretty little dress and that sexy strappy heels. She wanted to look gorgeous for the night. Indeed she was.

All night long she was downing copious amount of alcohol, one after another, to show that she was having a ball. Afterall it was her party. Perhaps she was using the alcohol to psyched herself up, to muster the courage to spill her heart, to bare her soul in search for return of affection from him. It was a little pep talk session with alcohol for herself. Well, you know how you think you can fly off the building or conquer the world when you have got enough alcohol in your system.

So she did. She did it, hinting sheepishly to him when they both drinking with the noisy merry making crowd. She did it, telling him gently when they both stepping out for fresh air. She did it, whispering into his ear when they both almost drunk lounging on the couch.

He was playing dumb. He was making jokes. He was being witty. He was pushing his luck. He was beating around the bush. His replies were ambiguious and vague at best.

While it was heart-breaking not getting the answers she hoped for from him. More so, it was mind tormenting not getting any answer at all. They set out playing catch. She kept throwing the ball but he remained motionless, simply not catching the ball, simply watching it hit the ground.

It wasn't too much fun. It wasn't fun at all.

She then sat silently across from him. She drank some more. She laid down on the plush sofa. She said she was tired and tipsy. He thought she was utterly dissappoined, maybe crushed. He knew she was done with him.