The Infinity Sign

Chapter 6: Torture

Chapter 6: Torture

A night of dream-filled sleep was enough to erase the magic of that friendly touch which soothed me yesterday. The sensation of rough hand against my skin had been forgotten as I stared at the crowd of teenagers through the newly-cleaned glass windows.

All other stores lining the street were filled with customers at this busy hour of Sunday. Conversely, the posh coffee shop where I was seated contained less than ten people—leaving an awful lot of space for more rich customers. I looked around, enjoying a momentary pleasure inside this glamorous place.

 The artistic and high-fashioned photographs were placed evenly on the walls which matched the black and white theme of the furniture. Waiters and baristas dressed in sailor uniforms had that cool glint in their tired eyes. The alluring aroma of coffee beans could have made my mouth water if my stomach was not yet full of the liquid. The appearance of the shop was screaming “EXPENSIVE COFFEE PRODUCTS” and it was enough to drive clusters of allowance-dependent teenagers away.

My hands fidgeted on the glass table. The man with a sexy smile approached me for the hundredth time now, asking if I want another freaking cup of coffee. I refused and complimented his workplace instead (to allow my eyes a few more seconds of pleasure with the eye candy).

Minutes later the clear glass door opened. I watched as the host greeted a modern American Barbie doll. The woman – thirty-something, I guess – wore a black gothic dress which was too short, with a neckline too low. Her pale skin was exposed proudly and her cleavage was glistening, aiming for attention. Her coal-black eyes lined with glittery purple eyeliner found mine and her fiery red lips formed a tight and sultry smile. Large and probably heavy earrings captured my attention as she swayed her hips all the way to the stylish black chair on the other side of my table.

“Brooke Greene.”

My name had been spoken so softly – almost a whisper – as if I was her lover instead of student. It was her own way of greeting everyone.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she whispered, crossing her legs in a slow, seductive manner that gained stares from the male waiters.

“It’s fine, Miss Brewster,” I faked a smile. In fact, I’ve been waiting for an hour, Ma’am.

She flicked her golden hair, exposing red nails the same color as her lips. I chewed the flesh of my mouth. My fingers hid themselves hurriedly from her gaze as I remembered the three-week old eroded beige polish applied on my nails.

It tainted the elegant look I pulled on today. It was a once in a blue moon occasion for me to trade my T-shirts and jeans for a semi-formal turquoise blouse and white pants I bought last Christmas. Heck, a weak attempt for an angelic, sophisticated look could not outdo Ms. Brewster’s sexy – almost erotic – clothing style.

I watched as her eyes blinked a few hundred times. The handsome waiter arrived and she gladly asked for two orders of sugar-free black forest mini-cakes and cappuccino. I waited again until the order was placed in our table.

 A silent sip.

A lick on her lips.

An inviting smile flashed at the guy.

 Finally, she spoke.

“How’s the last show, darling?”

Darling. Very Clark-ish.

“It’s successful, Ms. Brewster. We’re doing a re-run this week.”

“Uhm,” she moaned. Was there an invisible force raping her?