Ever since the last week of vacations we've cram packed ourselves with work and I'm the one under it all. My father remains serene within all of the troubles we're caught up in. Christmas vacation is one day until school reels us all back in and then we'll be cramming our minds of information that may or may not be useful after graduation. Nearing closer to that last week of finals stresses me to no end. Next week I'll be taking my college prep classes and my practice ACT's and SAT's and God, I feel as though my chest may collapse.
After news of Teylor's death sunk into the soles of our shoes, everyone was anything but relieved. I've begun to see more and more of Angela. The solidity I've had has worn off and I consider if I ever was whole to begin with. Angela wavers between confident in herself and unsure of her next move in a life she seems to not know where it's headed. The men I've seen her associated with are quite the mutiny. Law enforcers chase them down alleyways only to find that they've disintegrated into the air like they never were present from the start of pounding feet to the earth. We are bound to paradoxical circumstances.
My visits through the square are left unaccounted for as the ice prevents homes from being left alone. Jade finally went home after four days of nonstop jibber-jabber with my father. I've become sick of their voices finding their way along the border of the walls to the door of my room. At night she'd slip into my room inconspicuously, lifting the sheet just so as she slides underneath. I can still feel her feet against my shin. They were absolutely freezing and when she placed them against me I jerked back, only to feel her laughter pierce the air. Even then I couldn't help but smile at the sound. I smile now as I turn a corner to the café. Her laugh, her voice, it's all so surreal and still my favorite and may as well be when I'm left to rot inside a nursing home at an old age. The curve of her body against me is the comfort I find on the days when it's too horrid a day to face the world.
I enter through the main doors. The door chimes in response to my push of the handle. In spite of the weather the warmth of the place leaves me colder than I was. The same woman who was accustomed behind the counter the last time I was here now cleans out the espresso machine, her apron caked in flour yet crisp with cleanliness all the same.
"Afternoon," I say slipping off my beanie, sliding it into the pocket of my wool coat. Surprised by the sound of my voice, she turns curtly.
"Well, hello darling." Her voice reminds me of the desserts lined along the inside of the glass case built into the counter; sugary and sweet and everything nice. "What can I get ya?" My eyes scan the place and I unbutton my coat as I do, shivers erupting over my skin.
"Just a black coffee would be fine, if you please." She nods and begins to fix it for me. I seep into the cushion of a nearby booth. It's nice to be left with my thoughts. I've not had time to breathe in the house. I've decided to name the German shepherd, whom I found in the cold, Kujo. Every other name that came to mind seemed ridiculous when I spoke it. At night now he's found a place on the couch to curl into and sleep until late noon. Soon I'll have to go out for a bed and other necessities.
Remembering my leaving the house this morning I realized once again like every other day that my father didn't get out of bed. He's a shadow of a man now. Looking at him now feels like looking through to a demonic possession. Dead eyes and languished arms. Nothing of a man to be adored and honored for his heroism in continuing on past his wife's death. He's grieved his fair share so what's so hard about letting go? I realize soon after that that seems to be a hypocritical statement.
After losing myself in the spaces between my dysfunctional thoughts, my name is called and I'm standing to retrieve my drink. My footsteps along the hardwood echo through the café.
"It's a bit hot so don't hold it too tightly," she informs me, easing the cup in the spaces between my fingers. I force a smile, carefully holding it. I begin to walk back to my table, hesitating just as I reach it.
YOU ARE READING
Story of A Lonely Guy
Mystery / ThrillerA girl. It only takes one for Brone’s life to go ripping at the seams, down the line of stitches like it was never strong enough to uphold life, let alone his. She takes wrong turns and he’s led right back to her. But she was never the one he wanted...
