When Fangirls Cry by Marian Tee

looked, Saffi realized painfully, like the kind of woman that used to attract Staffan’s attention… easily.
                “Nothing to say?” Vania let her eyes widen as her mouth formed a fake round ‘oh’ of surprise. “But wait, you did say something, didn’t you?” Her laughter spilled out over the now silent restaurant, with every patron eagerly watching the tableau unfolding before them.
                “You are so cute, Saffi. It’s like the past all over again. You still talk to fish, don’t you?”
                She could feel Staffan’s gaze narrowing on her and Saffi wondered dizzily if she was going to faint. “I---”
                “Poor you,” Vania cut her off with a pitiful shake of her head. “Your therapist must be really bad. You should give my friend a try. He’s very good at handling, umm, special cases like yours.”
    Vania started to say something else, but Staffan was suddenly intruding smoothly, “As fascinating as it is to hear about your common history, I’m afraid we’ll need to postpone it.”
    Saffi released her pent-up breath as she realized that would be the end to Vania’s attack. There was just no way to say anything else – no way for Vania to get back to insulting Saffi with the way Staffan had so conclusively ended their time together.
    Around them, she could still feel the heat of people’s gazes, knew that she was still the most interesting subject to be the cynosure of their looks. After all, old habits died hard, and not staring at people like Saffi, who used to be the butt of every person’s joke in this town, was one of the hardest habits of all to kill.
    Staffan was giving the woman in front of him a properly regretful smile. “Thank you for your company, Vania. Perhaps I can make it up with dinner next time?”
    Mollified by the invitation, especially after feeling annoyed at being subtly kicked out of the table, Vania returned Staffan Aehrenthal’s smile with a sexy one of her own. Wetting her lips, bending close so that he would know what she was promising, she said huskily, “The receptionist knows my number. I’ll make sure she knows you will be asking for it.” She made no effort to keep her voice down, wanting everyone in the restaurant to know that of all the women here, Staffan Aehrenthal had chosen to be with her.
    “I’ll be the envy of every guy here just by having your number.”
    The words were said so smoothly and convincingly, Saffi couldn’t stop herself from staring at the two open-mouthed as they continued to flirt in front of her. Perhaps later she would feel hurt, but right now, she couldn’t make herself feel anything. This was not the Staffan Aehrenthal she knew. The rock star she had loved for so long was a foul-mouthed badass sex god who wouldn’t have wasted time on preliminaries. He wouldn’t have lasted more than five minutes without saying ‘fuck’. So why was Staffan acting like this strange polished gentleman, pulling out the chair for Vania as she stood and kissing her on the cheek before she walked away?  It was as if he was playing a…
    Her heart slammed against her chest.
    He was playing a role and it could only be to hurt her. And that could only mean one thing.
    Staffan was hurting, too.
    Staffan’s cold gaze suddenly shifted to her and she swallowed. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Her voice shook. She had this crazy urge to bawl like a child as she threw her arms around him, but of course she wouldn’t ever get away with that now.
    “It obviously wasn’t a problem.” Staffan pulled out a chair for her even as he dismissed her words. An awkward silence grew between them as she gazed at anywhere but him. It hurt to look at Staffan and feel the sting of his hatred, and it hurt even more to know that she could not in all conscience blame him for it.
    The silence persisted. Her impetuous nature won out and Saffi blurted, “You know, don’t you?” She