on tuesday afternoon, Chelsea had returned to none other than that same cafe on the corner of ivy street.
despite her rude interaction with that boy the other day, she decided she liked the cafe too much to stay away because of one boy. he probably wouldn't even be there very much, because Chelsea had never seen him around town at all before the other day—not that she went outside very much, but you get the point.
and so Chelsea was sat at the same table as last time, a different book this time was open on page 90 and it was getting quite exiting to read, too.
the familiar smell of coffee had Chelsea feeling cozy as she continued to be engrossed in the series of events this book had to offer, and even the faint sound of David Bowie's music coming from behind the counter gave Chelsea a nostalgic feeling—in no less than a good way, though.
this all reminded her of when her dad used to take time off work, he'd have a coffee and newspaper out, the stereo in their lounge room would have his favourite music playing, and chelsea would be sat by the fireplace, reading a book, no doubt. those were her favourite times.
she had learnt to let go of the past, knowing she'd never get back what she had; a functioning family, a social life, all of it. she didn't care anymore. at least, that's what she had convinced herself.
though, none of that mattered right now, because right now, in her mind, she was a young artist fleeing the explosive heart of the city, trying to reach their son before it was too late..
yes, she was reading Stephen King's very amazing—as Chelsea would describe it—Cell. she was absolutely in love with the book, and Stephen King's writing, because he had the ability to have her feeling like she was in the story; like she was finally part of something.
she turned to the next page, anticipating what the next series of events could possibly hold, when a stifled giggle from beside her brung on a strong feeling of déjà vu.
she looked up from her book, and sure enough, it was him. the same boy from the other day, and this time he didn't even have a comic with him—he was just sat with a cup of coffee, a knowing smirk etched on his face.
"reading again, are we?" he placed his coffee down, and Chelsea noticed he had a sweater on, the sleeves were notably too long, wrapped over his hands. Chelsea might have thought this was cute if she didn't know how annoying he was. annoying boys were not cute. annoying boys were annoying.
"what does it look like, doofus?" Chelsea could no longer hear the sound of David Bowie's wonderful voice, she could no longer pick up the scent of coffee. she was irritated beyond belief at the look of this boys face.
"aw, you remembered my nickname! you're so sweet, you bookworm." the boy feigned a moved expression, but Chelsea knew he was beaming with satisfaction on the inside, it was obvious enough how much he liked to rile her up.
she didn't know why, though.
"so, what've you been doing since we talked last? did you miss me? i missed you." Chelsea knew he was joking, and she wouldn't allow herself to be fooled by his perfect white teeth, or his boyish grin he seemed to sport so often. not that she'd noticed, or anything.
"i did not miss you. not one bit." Chelsea spoke, looking at Ezra's attempt to mock sadness, his bottom lip pushed out in an exaggerated manner, forming a pout.
"now, we both know that's a lie." Ezra's confident aura returned along with what Chelsea was beginning to think of as his trademark smirk. "i'm just too handsome not to miss, right?" he added as if he needed reassurance, and Chelsea knew that was something he did not need.
he needs a good kick in the balls, Chelsea thought to herself—the thought even caused her irritation to somewhat dissipate, something she thought could never happen in the presence of this boy.
"yeah, whatever." she rolled her eyes, something she seemed to do a lot when around him, "whatever helps you sleep at night."
"well then, whatever helps you deny my obvious good looks." the boy had the audacity to wink at Chelsea, who had the growing urge to kick him in the shin.
instead, however, she turned her attention back to the boy's lack comic book, "so, no comic today?"
he nodded, eyeing his coffee that he'd since abandoned in order to annoy the girl sitting at the table beside him, "no comic today. just a strong need for coffee." he confirmed.
"oh." Chelsea began to let her mind wander. she wondered if he was having a bad day, and needed coffee, or if he just really liked coffee. she studied his face expression, but it just remained neutral, his gaze set on his cup of coffee. Chelsea was used to being able to read people—it was always so easy, their faces always gave it away—but this boy was so hard to read.
"hello?" the boy dragged her away from her thoughts, "i asked you what you were reading this time." Chelsea was able to read his face this time, he made it obvious to her: he had caught her staring, and he was happy about it.
"Cell, by Stephen King this time." she answered him anyway.
"Stephen King? so, you like horror?" he questioned, with an actual look of curiosity on his face. that, or Chelsea just misread his expression.
"i like Stephen King's writing, but i'm not really a fan of horror." Chelsea answered.
"you've got to be kidding me." he spoke as if he couldn't believe her, "that's what Stephen King is known for!"
"well, technically, he's known for his writing." Chelsea defended, even going so far to cradle her book into her chest as if he would take it and rip it to shreds.
"because he writes horror." he then added on, "and who doesn't like horror? haven't you ever had a horror movie marathon? like, with your friends or something?"
Chelsea, unable to tell the boy that she hadn't even had a proper friend until earlier this week, argued back anyway, "no, not really. i just don't see the point in waiting to scare yourself with a stupid jump scare—horror in books is alright if it's well written, but i just don't enjoy it. it's stupid."
the boy put a hand over his chest, gasping, "excuse me? horror movies are not stupid. they're popular for a reason! the suspense, scary men in masks, the sex scenes that end in brutal—"
"ew!" Chelsea cut him off, "don't even finish that. you're gross." she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"you're gross." he retorted with a very strong comeback, as you can see.
"i know you are, but what am i?" Chelsea retorted, and that was when the boy knew she wasn't as mature as she showcased herself to be.
"i told you, you're gross—are you deaf?"
"i'm sorry, what? speak up. i can't hear you." Chelsea cupped a hand around her ear, pretending to be deaf in spite of what he said.
"you're stupid." he laughed.
"i know you are, but what am i?"
YOU ARE READING
CONSTANT HEADACHE ; EZRA MILLER
Fanfic'i'm just a constant headache, a dead pet device you hang me up unfinished with the better part of me no longer mine.' » if there was one thing that ezra and chelsea could agree on, it was that they barely ever agreed at all.
