Jon watched as she turned on her heel and started to walk away. Panic rose in his chest, and he finally found the courage to stand -- to find the damned waiter and get his card back so he could go after her.
He hurriedly scribbled his signature and the tip on the merchant copy of the receipt, forgoing taking his own copy, it wasn't important.
Grabbing his suit jacket from his seat, he made his way out the front door.
But he was too late.
He spun on his heel, looking down the busy sidewalk. Maybe he could spot her? Maybe she hadn't hailed a cab. Maybe she had just huffed off. But which way would she go?
Spinning again, he headed in the direction he thought she'd have gone in. He'd either hit the stairs to the nearest subway station, bus stop, or he even thought about hoofing it to her apartment. He pushed through the hustle and bustle. Why was it when you had something important, everything got in your way?
Why had he been so stupid. Why had he been so stubborn? Why hadn't he said something. Lulu, don't go. Lulu, I love you. Lulu, I'll find a way to be with you.
As the mob of people that pushed him backwards dissipated, and he saw no sight of her silky black hair, his heart sank. It was over? It couldn't be over. Not like that. No.
He turned back on his heel. Somehow thinking that maybe she'd gone the other direction gave him a bit of comfort. But deep down he knew she wouldn't be there.
Beaten, broken, and overwhelmed by his emotions, Jon moped his way back to the restaurant. After tipping the valet, he hopped in his car and started to drive. He contemplated driving to Lulu's apartment. Then he second guessed it. It'd be a waste of time. She was just as stubborn as he was and she wouldn't want to talk to him. SO he made his way to a hotel. Where and the price didn't matter, it was probably only for a couple nights anyway. He could extend his stay if Lulu changed her mind.
Most of a sleepless night went by. Jon spent it going over the night, and the past few months in his head. Trying every possibility he could think of. Every possible outcome to things, and figuratively tearing himself apart from the inside out.
As the sun beamed in through the window, he decided that he had to do something. He couldn't just give her up without a bit of a fight. So he picked up his cell and dialed her number.
Straight to voice-mail. Either her phone was off, or she'd purposely ignored it. He didn't know, and didn't care. He'd talk to a machine if he had to.
Hey Lulu, I really think we should talk.
Throughout the majority of the next day, Jon called. And every time his call went to her voice-mail, he left one. Hoping she'd get sick of them and call him back.
Lulu, don't do this. I really think we need to talk this through more.
Lulu, call me please.
I know you don't care what I have to say, but I want to try again, please give me the chance.
And they all sounded just like that.
The last message he left, was the last one he would. He wouldn't call her again.
I love you.
He wouldn't say goodbye. Goodbye would mean that he'd give up forever. And that would never happen.