Growing Up and Other Tall Tales

Chapter 8

"Lemon Iced tea."

"One lemon iced tea," I parrot under my breath until the voice registers surging up an onslaught of forgotten frustration.

My head snaps up and the sight doesn't do anything to appease me. I never saw him again after he gatecrashed into our apartment and almost dislocated my nose. It is safe to establish that I do not appreciate it when people try to dissemble my limbs without my consent.

His head is bowed, platinum blond hair, an impossible white, shrouding a face creased with sleep deprivation and a frown. And slowly, it comprehends somewhere in his brain that he is standing far too long at the counter without a bill or a drink in his hands. He raises his gaze up at me and then a look of recognition falls upon them.

And the penny drops.

"Long time." I greet him

"Not long enough." he grumbles moodily

Well okay, this is what I get for being a decent human being.

He sounds like I dumped him in middle school.

I don't reply and instead, type in his order. I can still feel him looking at me.

"What?"

"What?" he asks defensively

I look at him and pluck the printed bill out of the printer, the sound of paper shredding amplified at the force of my aggressiveness. I hold it out at him and he looks down at it, notes the price and pulls out his wallet.

And I'm still holding the bill.

He places the cash on the counter, throws me a long, last look and then goes to sit.

And I'm still holding out the fucking bill.

I roll it up and crush it in between my fingers murderously; all while I'm staring at him and the satisfied grin making its way across his stupid face.

I turn my back to him and call out his order angrily at Zeke, who honestly does not deserve the way my tone makes him almost drop the whipped cream. I wince apologetically when he raises his arms questioningly.

For the sake of my nerves, I don't bother making conversation when I call out his order. I don't allow him a look that suggests we've met anywhere before and impersonally pushing his drink forward.

I move to retract my hand when long, cool fingers wrap themselves in a tight lock around my wrist. I look at him and mouth what annoyed but that only makes him grip me tighter. It is starting to hurt and soon something else is going to get really hurt, really bad if he doesn't let go.

He takes a pen from the stand that is supported to carry a bowl with chits that customers can throw in: complaints and compliments, more often there is an abundance of the former because nothing is more human than complaining.

He flicks the pen cap off and scribbles something down on my forearm. I twist my arm in protest and curse under my breath but just like that, he lets go of my arm and returns the pen to its stand. I glare at him because dude, what the fuck and then look down at my graffitied arm.

It's his phone number and under it, in smaller and slightly squashed handwriting as though he really didn't want to add that, was his name.

Aiden.

I make a sound of confusion and he cuts in.

"Tell Diana to call me," he says. Not ask, not request, not please tell, just tell.

"Why should I do anything you ask?" and I'm pressing my thumb violently against my arm, rubbing it down the writing trying to smudge it off.

"I'm not asking,"

"And I might think about it if you did." I look down at my hand and realize that he didn't use the pen, he used the sharpie and not even holy water is going to remove it. It's going to be my Dark Mark. Asshole.

There is a pause. A long one. One where he looks me up and down and then bores his eyes into mine but there is sheen of glass between him and I.

"Please?" he asks confused and the word rolls out of his mouth like a foreign tongue

"Wow." I say slowly and he rolls his eyes but this time there is a hint of amusement and a trace of surprise on his face.

It looks younger on him. The sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks blossoms into a youth that has abandoned a face that looks my age. I remember what Diana said: sick. He's sick. And I don't know how she meant it anymore, because he looks like it too now.

"Tea?" I raise my eyebrows at his drink

"No coffee." he waves his hand dismissively, "Any more sleep deprivation, and I will actually die,"

"Pity,"

He makes a face and then tosses back the hoodie he has over his head.

"You really don't know who you are mouthing off, do you?"

"Chief dramatist from a B rated movie?" I drone

There's a startled small laugh that escapes his lips. I look at him surprised and the way he immediately swallows the sound tells me he is more shocked by it than I am.

"What's your name?" he asks finally

I never wear my name tag.

"Now, you are just crossing the line," I reply and he rolls his eyes. He waits for a while expecting me to answer him but I don't. Sighing, he moves away and looking at me walking backwards. He draws up two of his fingers to his temple and salutes.

"See you around,"

Oh God, I hope not.