From Heaven To Hell

Cold Coffee

I place the crinkly bag full of different coffeeshop treats into the passenger seat and take my heated cup of coffee with me, making my way to the bookstore.

After ordering multiple different flaky, buttery, and chocolatey treats from Emma, we both sat down and talked about random things. We even touched on the subject of me moving here. When she asked, I froze up. The question was an ordinary question, not something that was intended to insult me. But it did.
Not that she was being mean to me. Emma was the picture of friendliness. The question just brought back so many excruciating memories to the surface.

And it hit like a slap to the face.

I told her it was for my mother's new job. Which was partly true. I mean, after the "incident", my mother and I stayed at the house, but it had so many memories of my dad that she eventually just sent out her resume everywhere. The first place she could get a job, we would go to. So, we ended up here.

The first few nights after the "incident" I listened to my mother cry through the walls that separated my room from her's. It was easy to hear because the house was like an empty remainder of our normal lives. Only the tiny shivers of past happiness, of being a regular home. One where we regularly argued on what movie to watch, or laughed as we told stories about our day. Where we were a regular family, a happy one.

Most nights I held my mom as we lied on my bed, because she couldn't stand to lay in the room where the love of her life shared a room with her. She had ripped off the sheets of their shared bed and sat on the carpet, staring at a wall. Probably wondering why it all happened. I blamed myself those first few days. If I could have been a better daughter, he wouldn't have done it. As though that would have changed everything that he did.

Moving here, to this isolated little town, was our chance at a new beginning.

But I didn't say any of that to Emma. I told her what I had told a couple people I knew back at home. That my mom got a new job.

After an hour of talking, the place began to get busy. I could tell she felt guilty for leaving me to do orders, but I told her I had to leave anyways. Which I did. I knew if I was going into the bookstore, it was going to take some time. When it comes to books, I sometimes lost myself in them for hours.

I wrap one of my arms around my middle, trying to keep out the cold. My other hand is wrapped around my cup, which provides a comforting heat through my cold fingers. Like I did earlier, I stay close to the wall of the store, keeping myself from the sprinkling of rain by the short overhang from the roof.

The door of the book shop shows a picture of books arranged in way that spell Molly's. I push it open with my free hand and step onto the store's plushy carpet. Even in comparison to the cloudy day outside, the shop is dark, giving it a sleepy feeling. There are a few other customers, all either reading a book cover or reading one, while sitting in velvety bean bag seats or dark sofas. The cashier is a guy around my age. With big glasses and his eyes locked on his phone, it makes me wonder why he even bothered with a job that has to do with books. He doesn't even bother to look up as I make my way to the shelves located towards the back.

Going behind a tall shelf, I slide my hands along the book spines and a grin pulls at my lips. Finally. While most others feel joy going to the mall or hanging with groups of friends, I prefer to be alone, reading a book. It's like I can be someone else. Which is exactly what I've been needing.

I look at different covers, seeing new releases with interesting titles. Choosing a random book, I slouch into the nearest chair, which happens to be a velvety bean bag and open to the first page.

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"Hello? You gotta wake up." I open my eyes and come face to face with the boy with big glasses.