Love & Other Possibilities

Chapter 5 - Winter

    "You were amazing!" I squealed to Erika as she approached. I stood and threw my arms around her neck and squeezed her tight for a second before taking a step back. "You were so good!" 

    "Thank you! It felt really good!" She said, nodding to me, glowing with enthusiasm. "Hey were'd Cutie go?" She asked, her eyes scanning around the cafe'. The weight that I had talked away returned heavy against my chest. 

    "Ross, went to have dinner with his girlfriend." I smiled, sitting back down on my seat, her taking the chair beside me. 

    "Why didn't you ever tell me about him?" She grinned at me, setting her guitar beside her.  I scowled at her, a hiss of a laugh escaping my lips. 

    "I've told you about him. He's my boss, of course I've told you about him." 

She looked at me like I was stupid. 

    "You told me about your Boss, you didn't tell me he was adorable or that he adores you." She grinned taking a drink of her cup of coffee. 

    "He does not adore me! Erika, I told you, he has a girlfriend. And I didn't think the fact that he has a nice face pertained." I said, taking a drink of my now plain jane coffee. 

    "He does too adore you - I saw the way he looked at you. And by the way, a guy having an adorable face always pertains." She said, narrowing her eyes at me. We were interrupted by a couple of guys about our age who came up to Erika, her long legs crossed in front of her, her blue eyes flashing up at them. They told her how well she did, and she thanked them flirtatiously. They bantered for a minute or two before they eventually left, and I had to do my best from rolling my eyes at them. 

"See?" She asked, turning to me quickly after eyeing them walk out the door. 

    "What?" I asked, my brow furrowing. 

    "You like your boss."  She stated as if she'd just discovered a new scientific theory, and took another sip of her drink. I burst into laughter, a blush creeping up my face hard. 

    "What?! You're insane!" I roared.

    "No, what's insane is that you didn't look at either of those fine pieces of specimen that just came up and flirted with us."

    "They flirted with you." I refuted. 

    "Only because you did that face."

    "What face?" 

    "The 'Wench' face!" 

    "I did not do the 'Wench' face! Maybe I'm just not into oversexed, hipster wannabe, college guys." I said with sass, tilting my head at her. 

    "Oh come on, every 21 year old woman is into the oversexed hipster wannabe college guys." She said, waving her hand at me dismissively.

    "Not me. I prefer my Manu Bennett's over the Zach Efron's of the world."

    "I'd take both." She laughed, and I chuckled along with her. "No, I think you prefer your boss. How old is he anyway? Thought I saw flecks of silver in that sexy head of hair." She asked, and I scowled at her.

    "How much have you had to drink tonight?! You are insane!" I said, throwing my head back in laughter, trying my best to hide my discomfort. 

    "No, really, how old is he?"

    "He's 30." 

    "Ooo, silver fox."

    "Oh, my god, 30 does not constitute a silver fox, Erika. And what is wrong with you?"

    "I blame my parents. They could have named me 'Erica' with a 'c'. I could have been a teacher, Winnie, a normal person. But no, they decided to screw my life up before I had any chance and name me 'Erika' with a 'k'. Now I'm a broke musician who is known for occasionally dancing on table tops." 

I laughed at her, my eyebrows raised. 

    "At least they didn't name you after a tree." I leaned forward to her. "Erika, my parents didn't even give me a middle name to go by, just Winter Green." I said, the expression on her face letting me know I'd won. 

    "True." She paused for a second and we sat silently for a moment or two, just listening to the subtle hum of conversations through the cafe'.

"How serious of a girlfriend?" She asked, her voice low as her eyes flicked up to me. 

    "Erika, drop it." 

...

    About an hour and a half later Erika had just dropped me off at my apartment, and I started changing into my pajamas. I pulled off the blouse and tossed it over to my dresser, catching glimpse of my nearly bare back in my mirror. There they were, winding their way up my spine. My curse. My past. Small circular scars, some of them now over eight years old, zigzagging from my neck to my tailbone. I was thankful no one saw them through the sheer bottom of my shirt, although I suppose they probably just looked like a tattoo with their neatly measured, organized look. 

    I raised my hand to touch the small raised scars at the back of my neck, the skin tough beneath my fingertip. My past. My scars.