Gray: An Interracial Story

Chapter: 18

~Blakely's POV~

Why did I even go back? Why did I forgive him? Why must everyone hurt me? 

Unanswered questions run through my head as I walk down the sidewalk. The sidewalks are mostly bare, but that's what you'd expect. All the men are at home in bed with their wives or girlfriends. Maybe even with family. The women with their men. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe there are others alone tonight, every night. But even they probably have company, or pets. 

The cool wind blows hard against my face. I zip up my jacket and stuff my hands in the pockets. I look down at the sidewalk, my feet slowly moving. It seems since that day in the tub I've gotten slower, weaker. I don't have the energy I used to. My body feels like a heavy bag of bricks with every step I take. 

I don't even look the same. My once thick hair is now dead and stringy; my body is now so thin, like a stick; all my curves are gone; and my eyes, God those eyes, once so beautiful and full of life. Now they're just like dull orbs of nothing. Lifeless, cold, dead. 

I look up from the sidewalk, deciding to stray from my wondering mind. I look around the sidewalk, seeing a few other people. An older man dressed grungily. He looks as if he hasn't showered in a few days. A hobo? A young girl, no older than 18 or 19, flagging down a car. A prostitute? A woman with a tired expression holding a screaming baby. Her husband left her? 

Have you noticed how quick to judge we are? Just by looks. As a society we judge right away, not taking time to know a person. The man, is going into a thrift shop, the one he owns. The young girl, getting in a car with her mother. The woman, her husband is with her now and they're trying to calm their baby. 

I sigh and look up at the coffee shop in front of me. Open 24 hours, just what I need. I open the door and walk inside, causing a bell to jingle. I look around the cafe. It's a cozy looking place. It puts you in the mind of what a grandmother's home would be like. It smells of homemade apple pie. Just like my grandmother used to make. I sure do miss that lady. Mama Patty was the best. 

I smile to myself at the thought of my father's mother as I walk over to one of the many empty booths. There's only one other person in here. A man. I sit down in the booth I chose, right by the window. I pick up a menu off the table and skim over it. Mmm.. Some of that apple pie would be good right now. 

"Hello doll!" I look up from my menu a bit startled. A motherly looking woman with glasses looks down at me. 

"Oh hello." I plaster a smile on my face.

"Welcome to Annie Bells! I'm Bell!" She puts out her hand. I shake it firmly. 

"I'm Blakely." 

"Well what can I get you Blakely?:

"I'll just take a slice of apple pie and a small coffee." 

"Ahh! Good choice! Our apple pie is the best in this part of New York, and that's a fact!" She let's out a loud laugh and slaps her knee. 

She looks back where the kitchen would be. "Hey Arnie!" A bald man sticks his head out.

"What is it Bell?"

"Give me a slice of apple pie and a coffee on the house." He nods and glances at me before going back into the kitchen. 

I look up at her surprised. "On the house?"

She gets down closer to me and whispers. "I can tell something is bothering you doll. So yes, on the house! You need it."

"Oh you don't have to do that."