Rapture

2

The only perk of working at a coffee house was the smell. During the fall months, the small establishment held a musk of pumpkin and warm spices that seemed to engulf you. It always found a way to set me into a trance when I had nothing to do, and it was much more welcoming than the freezing temperatures brought about the place in the Spring.

I took my time in wiping down a recently vacated table, realizing just how far the hours had waned when I looked to the clock. It was 12:57, and I got off at 2.

The corners of my lips tugged into a reluctant smile at that, yet I was dreadfully aware of the next shift that awaited me. I'd only have enough time to return home and change...

"Are you done here?" I jumped in fright at that husky, masculine tone, and looked up to the equally intimidating host.

Upon taking in his dark and demanding appearance, I instinctively took a step back. The whole of his right arm was covered in distinct tattoos, the thought of that pain sending cold shivers up my spine. I'd gotten a tattoo before, simply my grandmother's name over the skin covering where my heart would lay, yet the sensation was dreadful-- and the thought of that experience made a curling sensation of disgust in the pit of my stomach... One that made me want to hurl.

I looked around to all the other empty tables, then up into his deep, blue eyes, and gave off a look that aired how inconvenient I'd found him to be.

"Almost," I began, my voice obviously hinting at the question in my thoughts, "But perhaps you could sit at another?"

"This is my favorite tabl--"

"How could it be your favorite if you've never been here before?" The words burst past my lips before I could even try to hold them back. I was suddenly struggling to find the words to make the question seem less accusing, "I- I mean, what's so special about this table?" My gaze lowered from his. Despite the friendly demeanor he so strongly held up, it felt as fake as some robotic dog. Sure, it was a solid attempt-- but the eerie shivers holding reaction to him in general told me it'd never truly be the real thing.

I looked around to try and further my argument, noting the tables with better views. This one in particular was pretty old, and had small etchings from teenagers when they were in their rebellious phases. A large hand attempted to place itself over the one I held on the table-- the one clutching a dirty rag-- and I quickly jerked away from him.

"Just take it," I muttered, setting the rag into the bucket of scalding, soapy water before retreating to the safety of the counter.

The only other occupant amongst myself was Helen, who leaned against the dark countertop and entangled her tanned, bony fingers into her black hair. She was looking at some guy's online profile and chomping away at the gum struggling to cover a night's worth of cheap tequila and liplocking. I only ignored her, as I usually did with most of my coworkers, and set the bucket atop a clearing in the countertop.

"Who was that?" Helen inquired in the usual monotone. One that told you she didn't give a fuck as to what your reply was, she was only finding reason to talk.

"A per--"

"Cool." Helen cut me off, setting her phone down and turning to face me, "We should hang out more, Cherie. We could share stories about guys and stuff."

"It's Charlotte," I mumbled lowly, choosing to simply let it go. Helen only acted as if I didn't say anything, and began the rant several employees here deliberately try to avoid. I've actually held a strong theory about how exactly the rich princess got a job here. The male manager was more likely than not the one to hire her-- and since he worked here more often, he could spend his spare time gawking at her massive endowments.

Helen only continued yapping on and on, and I simply began to zone out-- only mumbling every now and again to make her feel like I was legitimately paying attention.

I jumped in fright when my phone began to ring, and I panicked as I frantically searched my pockets. People were beginning to stare, and the attention was humiliating. All I was doing was interrupting their calm ambiance, and I was positive someone would complain if I didn't do something soon.

I finally pulled the bugger from my apron, and realized it was the alarm to tell me my shift had ended.

Who else would it be? It wasn't like poeple cared to talk to me, anyways.

I quickly said my goodbyes to Helen, and made my way to my locker post clocking out. I scrolled to the combination, and smiled in slight reluctance at the 'clank' the lock made when it released. I'd used the same combination for all of my locks, yet I always figured i'd forget at some point when I needed to remember it most.

To say the least, I was happy to prove someone wrong.

I stuffed my apron into my locker, then stuffing my little phone into the small satchel I've had since ninth grade, and slammed my locker shut before messing up the little dials and heading out.

Sweet relief washed over me when the fresh air hit my face, the fall leaves fluttering about the empty employee lot when the wind blew just hard enough. Fall was my favorite season, only because there were vibrant colors hitting the dead city. I walked to the streets, and a recently familiar shiver ran up my spine at the sight of just how empty it was. These parts usually stood as a hub of activity for the residents of the slums, yet there was no one-- and the only sounds were the crinkle of leaves and scraps when I stepped onto them.

Something was horribly off, and the possibilities all appeared to be unnerving. I tried to stick to the shade, to seem more insignificant than I already was, so whatever evil force was out there wouldn't find too much interest in me-- if they took any interest in the first place, that is.

Chilling hands wrapped around my waist, pulling me into the dark abyss of some alley. The swift force brought my satchel crashing to the pavement, rendering me absolutely hopeless when I saw my phone topple into the street. I tried to scream, but the rapid movements had seemed to take the voice out of me... Leaving my pleas for assistance as small squeaks.

Immediately, tears pricked at my eyes-- and I never felt so weak and soft in my life. No wonder I was such a good target.

"You're truly no fun, sweetheart," that voice rang in my ears like some haunting scream, and I finally found the air to speak.

"Please don't kill me," I whimpered, internally despising myself for choosing such words.

As if my manners would bring him to comply. "Oh, since you asked nicely I'll just let you go and everything will be okay!"

He only chuckled, the dark edge to it making me want to fight. To bite his arm or something...

But I was weak and pointless, so at least no one will miss me when I end up on the news.

"I don't want to kill you," he murmured into my ear, having my back secured flush against his chest with one arm whilst the other ran it's fingers through my wavy hair, "Not yet, at least," he added. A small whine escaped my lips. I looked down at the open, sunny air of the streets, reaching my arm out to my things cast about on the sidewalk... As if I'd suddenly gain the ability to reach them. I jumped at a loud bang and angry shrieks probably a block or so away, and my attacker only sighed.

"Best get going before boy wonder shows up, right?" He inquired, to which I tried to nod. I didn't want to piss him off, not when he could snap me like a twig. A part of me began to grow overwhelmingly dominant, a part that demanded I didn't go so easily. I took in a big huff of air, to have a cloth with a strong chemical being slapped across my mouth and nostrils. It smelled absolutely retched, and I would've hurled if the world around me hadn't been slowly drifting away.

"C'mon, sweetheart. We wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, would we?" That voice was the last thing I experienced, and then it was all simply gone.

I had faded into chasm of soft, comforting darkness-- as if I were drifting on obscure, evil clouds. It felt so perfect, and nothing could've ever mattered.

I just didn't want it to go away.