Short Story- 3 AM ramblings

Alice smoothened out her blue silk skirt for the last time before she looked up and saw Gregore. If it weren’t for his charming smile and flawless hair, Alice would have been partially intimidated by his steely eyes. They were, as they had been since he was a freshly born infant, the colour of hidden objects in the dark with only the faintest golden outline here and there. Black obsidian eyes with flecks of pure golden youth striking out around his always constricted pupil. He held a nicely wrapped blue present in one hand, holding his coat while it was draped over his shoulder with the other. Alice was disappointed. He had no free hands to hug her.
Alice then opened up her long, black trench coat and pulled out her pocket watch. She clicked it open and inspected the time on the vintage like clock face. When she looked up back at Gregore, her fuchsia lips pursed into a childish pout.
“You’re late, Gregore. Very late, in fact.” The boy could only smile joyfully with a halfhearted shrug before placing the blue wrapped present in front of Alice- on her empty plate to her ever growing annoyance- and sat in the opposite set across from her. Alice snapped her clock shut so tightly that a passing waiter even cringed. Everyone in a ten foot radius of Alice winced from the ringing that the clicking metal watch brought along with an obnoxious headache. Everyone was affected; all except Gregore. He grinned crookedly, flashing his crooked yet perfectly white teeth, and leaned back improperly in his seat.
“Listen, I’m sorry Ally. It’s just that Red needed my help and-” Alice sat up straighter abruptly in her chair and glared so fiercely at Gregore that his following words were ceased by the fire raging from her icy eyes. So blue, like an untouched skyline.
“Gregore, darling,” she drawled with a sophisticated properness to her exquisite etiquette. She placed her hands in her lap and forward some slightly, disregarding all thoughts or emotions of the present wrapped in front of her. “This would be the fifth time that you have been hopelessly tardy to one of our afternoon tea luncheons. And I do not accept unpunctuality in a quote un quote committed relationship,” Alice then eased back some before remembering her manners and poise. She acted as if she didn’t notice, but she did and as did Gregore, to his embarrassment- every single person in the outside Parthenon had their eyes on the distressed couple. While the words that the two spoke to each may have been stretched out and thin, their physical appearances were just as captivating as their relationship drama.
Alice, in her short above-the-knee-high blue satin dress, the skirt puffed with layers of petticoats, inch high black heels, fishnet stockings, and out of place black trench coat, was always one hard to ignore. Even if she wasn’t talking. Her hair was let down loose, falling in a V-shape to the bottom edge of her shoulders blades, and it was often describe not as a now contemporary comparison of spun golden threads; no, not Alice. She had hair the colour of sunshine, the colour of happiness, the colour of new born love. And it was unheard for a man to look into Alice’s eyes and not fall in love with them, if not her herself.
Gregore was a different story. He was not alluring in the way of royalty or graceful elegance; no he had the rustic and quaint bewitching personality to him.
He was almost always found in a pair of dirt bespattered brown leather laced-up boots, fringe frayed pants denim jeans or a pair of paint covered overalls with a once white tee shirt underneath, and a flannel shirt unbuttoned and over a once spotless under shirt like a coat. He was unlike Alice, who was first in line for the throne of Wonderland, and work was as a modest book binder and humble glazier. He was selfless, and never turned down an opportunity or invitation to help another. He had black eyes with streaks of lining gold around his pupils, dust coloured hair that fell to his chin. And on his jaw line there was the ever growing stubble that used to tickle Alice’s cheeks whenever he used to kiss her. His skin was thick with a slight tan. He had terse hands, decorated with skin grafts and time worn scars. If one were to ask many girls amongst the villages what they thought of Gregore Beorhthram, they would only utter one word in a lovesick whispering hush: Perfect. Maybe some would say Perfection, or perhaps Perfected, but you must understand the gist of things by now.
But in Alice’s merciless eyes, he was only one cringeworthy word to her: Late.
“So as of today, you, Gregore Beorhthram, are- what do the commoners call it? Oh yes- single.” The entire outdoor luncheonette sucked in a loud and obnoxious gasp. One woman let out a horrific scream of heartache and had to be escorted out after she had fainted from the idea of Alice and Gregore not together anymore. Gregore only stared at Alice with the stony expression she had ever seen since she left her sister.
“Open the present. Enjoy it. Goodbye Alice.” He got up, and shrugged on his chipped wrinkled brown leather jackets over a buttoned red and black flannel shirt. He paused before walking out of the elegant outdoor cafe with a dignified high head. Alice was at a lost of breath and began to fan herself with her hand.
“Are you quite all right, miss Alice?” A waiter with purple corkscrews for hair and blue painted eyelids and lips for his makeup. Wonderland still had its flourishing and extravagant characteristics, surprising Alice more each and everyday she stayed longer. She looked up after blowing her nose into a lacy white polyester handkerchief and nodded at the silly little man with a straight face.
“Quite,” she repeated in a callous and frigid voice. The waiter then gestures to the present in front of her. She looked to the right and waved a hand as if telling the waiter to go away.
“Throw it away. Keep it and give it to your lover. Sell it. I don’t care what you do with it; rid it from my eyesight immediately. Then get me a cup of white tea, will you?” Her voice returned to its usual softness and almost caring tone. The waiter, Alice noticed his name tag read Alfonzo, nodded and picked up the present delicately as if it were a ticking time bomb. Alice then leaned forward some into the table, holding her head up by her unscarred hands and tears began to fall from her serene eyes and into the white chinaware dish, memories swimming around in her mind like water and mud mixing in a pond.