The Clock

I was walking down the last stretch of street towards my house.
No. Not walk. More like float.

I looked at my wristwatch.
Quarter past eight.
Fifteen more minutes and he will be gone forever.

“Just breathe.”, talking to myself loudly. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
Also, wasn’t this the point of these six months?
Six months of planning and coming up with strategies.
And wasn’t I the one who convinced him to take the shot?
Wasn’t it I who said that it was now or never?

This is when the tears started streaming down my face.
I wiped them angrily but they just wouldn’t stop.
It’s a good thing the street’s deserted or I would’ve looked like a mad woman.

What’s gotten into me?
He’s my best friend and I want what’s best for him.

How the hell am I suppose to know what’s best for him?
What if I’m what’s best for him?
And not this pretty little rich girl he’s been dreaming of since we were in the fifth grade?

I looked at the time again.
Eight thirty-one.
It doesn’t matter anymore.
His plane would have taken off by now.
And forty-five minutes from now, she would greet him at the gate with a kiss and probably run off into the sunset of wherever.

I arrived at home still with a heavy feeling of regret and what ifs.
Sitting on the living room sofa just staring at nothingness.
I just sat there.

My useless reverie was disturbed by a car pulling over in the driveway.
I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock.

9 o’clock.
Could it be? Could it be he changed his mind?
And instead of getting on the plane, he drove back here?
I stood up. Looking at the front door as it opened.

I held my breathe.
A familiar face.
But not the face I was expecting.
My mom walked towards me and said: “Are you okay?”
I burst out crying.

This post is in response to Daily Prompt: The Clock.