Jigsaw (NaNoWriMo13)

Three

The steam unfolds from my coffee cup like an origami swan and warms my freezing face. The coffee, strong, three sugars with just a dash of milk is bitter but just what I need to wake up. The whole place seems to hum with a vibrant kind of silence, the sort that hovers in the space between conversations. But the only life in the small, poky kitchen is the humming of the refrigerator and the creak of the toaster as it slowly cools down.

Yesterday was eventful. Actually, that would be an epic understatement. Yesterday was awful, interesting, hilarious, strange all at the same time. Never have I raced through so many emotions at such rapid fire pace. It was almost to the point that I forgot about the photo sitting on my coffee table. I'd tried to placate myself over and over again.

I must have brought it with me and dropped it. But I definitely threw it away before I left Wales. Maybe someone found a copy, thought I would like it and mailed it to me. But no one knew my address, and besides there's no mailing address on the envelope. It was plain, with no stamp. You probably had it all along, and just forgot about it. Impossible.

My mind didn't even attempt to come up with an excuse for that one was. I'm not stupid; I know that i threw away that photo. I made sure to bury it under piles of empty yogurt pots and soggy teabags. It just doesn't make sense. Every time I think about it, an icy tendril of fear creeps through my veins and clenches its icy grip around my heart. 

It must be so freeing. So liberating. To be free from pain and fear. To be happy and able to genuinely smile becausae everything is okay. Like Evan, like Tanya. Like all the patrons I see every day in the cafe. But no, everyone has their crosses to bear, their own skeletons, their own demons that creep up on them in the dead of the night. They learn to deal with it. They learn to smile. Something I should do.

Then I think of Evan. With his bright smile and his sparkling personality. The way he scrunches up his nose when he's about to laugh. And then when he does, it's a full on belly laugh, the sort that comes straight from the soul. But the thing that stands out most of all about Evan. Isn't the way his wavy hair falls perfectly about his head, or the way his brown eyes look like a melted rolo. It's that he has a certain vulnerability about him, a sense of sadness that only comes out when he thinks no one is looking.

That look on his face. One of hurt and disappointment triggered a pain deep down inside of me. In places I didn't even know I had. That's why I left early. But now, in hindsight, I feel like I should have stayed. Explained myself better. 

I lay awake all last night, thinking it through and trying to ignore the ever present ache in my chest. At around three in the morning, I had been hit by an unexpected bout of loneliness and despair, which resulted in my wondering the flat, desperately trying to quell my racing thoughts.

At around five, my thoughts turned to Tanya and stayed there. it's abundantly clear that she doesnt like me: scratch that, she hates me. I still haven't figured out why. And honest, I don't care. Evan, it seems is blissfully unaware.

When I finally bottle up the courage and step out of my block of flats and into the bitter morning air, my stomach is churning, and my heart is thumping so loudly in my chest that it drowns the sounds of the traffic dashing past me. Or that's what it feels like at least. My feet suddenly seem too heavy for my body, and I am struck with the sudden thought that Evan might not even want me there.

I wipe away a bead of sweat and turn the corner onto the parade of shops. Evans café standing out above them all. I feel as if I am an accosted witch being lead to the gallows, as I make my slow, torturous way to the shop, pausing several feet from the frosted glass front. What do I say, to the man who thinks I sabotaged his business and then when he tried to talk to me, I just walked out?