Heartbeat [Niall Horan]

Chapter 1- Coffee Duty

Chapter 1:

There was a reason that I avoided coffee duty at all costs, and that very reason was in the process of making itself known as I marched through the bustling streets of London. Walking to work was nothing out of the ordinary, however doing so in full military fatigues could qualify as the definition for the expression "sticking out like a sore thumb".

Thankfully, most commuters were too caught up in themselves and their own business, but there was always that handful of sympathetic people who never failed to shoot you a piteous smile, or maybe even took it so far as to mutter a "thank you". People like this didn't understand that I didn't want- deserve, to be pitied. After all, what they didn't know was that I wasn't an active duty soldier, I was in the territorial army, training only on weekends. Plus, nobody forced you into joining, active duty or not, it was a personal choice. I had joined the military for my own pathetic reasons, and those pathetic reasons did not involve "glory" or the "immense pride" that recruiters tended to promise. Pity was almost insulting, these people did not see somebody (females, especially) in fatigues as "just another commuter". No, they saw somebody who was different, somebody whose life did not fit into the status quo. As far as I was concerned, a soldier was a regular person, or as the military preferred to call a normal person- "a civilian", until you placed a gun in their hands. Then again, many military personnel enjoyed the "civilian" attention, while others, myself being one, only wanted to get on with their lives. If there was anything that I truly understood in this world, it was that I, of all people, did not deserve pity.

The little bell fastened to the door tinkled as I entered the simple cafe. Being the only coffee shop within range of a few blocks, the shop was constantly being crammed with people. In fact, today the line was so long that it wound around the counter, eventually ending somewhere at the back of the shop. I squeezed my way through the disorienting crowd, past the impatient business men and zombie-like caffeine addicts; all who had yet to obtain their precious coffee. Through all of the abyss, I located what one could only guess to be the back of the line; it was difficult to tell if the line ever ended. With a sigh I glanced down at my phone, mentally preparing myself for a fifteen minute wait at the least.

Another reason I hated coffee duty was that no matter how early (or late) you got up it pretty much guaranteed you a late day. In fact, the phenomenon had been dubbed the "curse of coffee duty" among the platoon. A commanding officer didn't care if you came bearing coffee or not, late was late (even if it was obvious that they greatly appreciated the gesture). It had become a tradition of the others in the platoon to take turns buying coffee for the platoon commander and sergeant. Luckily, out of 25 soldiers meeting once a week, the responsibility rarely fell into my hands. Since completing boot camp about a year ago, we were required to report to training every Tuesday morning until we were either mobilized or simply decided that we were done with the Army.

I awkwardly looked around, hoping to keep to myself and avoid as much eye contact as possible. Which, might I add, in a tiny coffee shop jam packed with people, is a near impossible task.

Suddenly, somebody placed a rough hand on my shoulder, rudely shoving me to the side, and directly into a well-dressed woman passing by. Unfortunately, the woman also happened to be juggling three different steaming cups. The moment my shoulder connected with hers and a cry of surprise escaped her mouth, I knew I was in trouble. The cup containing a milky brown mixture hit the ground, exploding over the tile floor upon impact. Biting my lip, I hesitantly surveyed the mess, then glanced around for the culprit responsible for shoving me. Of course, there were too many people mulling around to pinpoint the exact one. The lady cleared her throat, snapping me back to attention. She was glaring at me, a patronizing frown on her face while she impatiently tapped her foot. Instantly, my mind froze and I began stammering, attempting to get out a satisfactory apology. "Oh god, I-I'm really sorry. It wasn't my fault, really. Someone-"

"I don't care whose fault it was, miss." She cut in bitterly. "That's your problem. My problem is how you intend to fix this." Startled, I took a step back, instinctively patting the many pockets sewn into the uniform, searching for my tattered pink wallet. Pulling it out, I handed the intimidating woman the amount equal to a coffee, which happened to be the money for my own coffee. I'd only taken enough for three coffees, considering I was headed to a military training session, not a shopping spree.

She studied the money in my outstretched for a moment before greedily snatching it away. Despite this, she still didn't seem satisfied. "That coffee cost more than this." She sniffed, stepping aside a bit so that an employee who had appeared from somewhere in the crowd could wipe up the mess. A sarcastic smirk spread across my face, I was a bit of a regular at this cafe.