Coffee Shop - A Newsies Fanfic (SPRACEE)

3

!!! TWS - Swearing, Homophobia !!! 

Suggest TWs as needed <3

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Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins

This short guy came in to get a coffee today. I'm not tall myself, but this guy was SHORT. He ordered his drink (as anyone in a coffee shop does), but when I was handing him his coffee, he looked at me.... really weirdly. Then he basically ran away. I watched as he dumped at least four sugar packets into his coffee. I watched as he sat down. I watched him keep glancing at me (I am way more discreet about my people-watching than he is). Then I realized- the short guy was Spot... but with a very prominent stubble.

So... Spot came back to Manhattan. And didn't come to visit me– at least, not intentionally. My throat tightens. I close my eyes and force any emotion over this away. I know it'll just give George more fuel for his comments.

At seven o'clock, I pour myself a coffee and sweep the floor while George wipes the counters.

"So who's the guy who came in today?" George asks.

"Which guy?" I say, stalling.

"The guy that kept staring at you." He says, with a sly smile

"No one. An old friend."

"So why did you start crying when he left–"

"I did not!"

"You almost did." He gasps. "Is he your... boyfriend?!"

"What? No!" I feel my face get hot.

"Oooh, he dumped you, didn't he." I hate that he's almost right.

"I don't even like boys!" I lie.

"Geez, you're getting a bit upset." George grins and continues, "Huh, no guys... and you're sure?"

I don't answer. George chuckles (evilly) and goes back to wiping the counter. I turn away, take a breath, pinch my palm to help calm down, and finish sweeping.

At 7:30, I grab my coffee and leave George to lock up. The sky is a deep purple-blue colour with a little line of pink at the horizon. The moon has already begun to hover over the buildings.

I blow on my hands and head to my apartment. I check my mail in the lobby. Nothing but bills and ads for places everyone has heard of, but don't bother going. I climb the stairs to Apartment 27. I unlock the door with a rusty key (it was rusty when it was given to me, which doesn't make much sense, considering this building is fairly new). The door squeaks when I push it open. I need to fix that (I've been telling myself this for six months).

My apartment isn't exactly showy, but the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/sitting room get the job done. Plus, it only costs me $660 annually, so I'll live. I grab a slice of bread from my cupboard (away from the mice), butter it, and plop my butt on the chesterfield. The book I've been reading is sitting on the coffee table. I reach my arm out, but I can't quite reach it, so I end up with half my body off the couch and hanging over the floor. But, I successfully grab the book, so... yay me.

I try to read my book, but I keep stopping. My head is spinning. My clothes feel too tight. My skin is itchy. My eyes won't focus. Fuck. I hate this. It's almost like when you have to sneeze, but it won't come out... only, it's like I need to shiver. I put the book down on the floor. There's no point in holding it if I'm re-reading the same three sentences over and over.

I set the kettle to boil, and go to the bedroom. I step over the piles of pants, socks, newspapers from months ago, and undershirts until I reach my wardrobe. I throw the left door open and grab my loosest, most comfortable, most amazing clothing.

Once I have changed my clothes, I go from a rip-my-skin-off level of discomfort, to an I'll-be-ok-if-no-one-talks-to-me level of discomfort.

I make myself some tea and sit back on the couch. My brain is still going at a thousand miles per hour, but now I can sort of focus on my thoughts. I think of Spot when we were dating. I think of him now, flinching at the sight of me and then walking away as if he doesn't know me. As if we haven't kissed for fuck's sake. It kind of hurts. More than kind of. I feel my face get hot and I swallow. It isn't fair. He told me he would come find me. I spent years of my life waiting for him. He lied. He never fucking came.

I go to my desk and throw open the drawer. I grab the box I once used to collect trinkets and letters from Spot. I find a letter. The letter.

It's the letter Spot left me before he moved away. I used to read it every day when he first left, but I eventually just stopped.

I force my eyes to focus on it for the first time in months.

Dear Race,

I'm so sorry I can't tell you in person, but this will have to be ok. I left to see my parents. I know they kicked me out and all, but they invited me back a while ago, and I think I'm going to confront 'em. I guess it'll give me "closure", like you say.

I just want you to know that I will be back. I'm gonna visit some friends from there, and you know, stay with 'em for a bit.

So, I guess I don't know when I'll be back, but be safe!!! I don't know if I could handle coming back for your funeral.

Anyways,

I hope you're okay.

Sincerely, your boyfriend,

Spot

I reread it over and over. I'm pissed. I'm allowed to be pissed. He left me with just a note. He didn't even write "I love you". And he never came back.

I feel hot tears run down my face. My breath catches. I look at the note one last time before ripping it up into tiny pieces. I can't believe I waited so long for him. I can't believe i trusted him.