Beautiful Disaster

Beauitful Disaster Chapter 5

Chapter 5

                Troy looks downright irascible.

                The silence is tranquil. No one makes a sound as the door creaks to a close and halts with a slam. Through the window the man glides pass with the same animalistic grace and the bulk of a man with too much confidence and superiority. The air almost envy’s him. His brawny shoulders are set back and squared off in his leather jacket; his jaw is unyielding, and those eyes, those violet eyes with specks of emerald scorn with every bit of odium.

                Then finally he glides into one more graceful step, turns his head, and is gone; passed the little coffee house and into the rest of Grand Haven’s streets. The air seems to breathe in some way where everyone at once was holding their breath—waiting, anticipating. Even me. I exhale, feeling immensely relieved and somehow alive again; as if in some way I was in some kind of trance or in complete shock of awe that I scarcely realized a gradational force that I couldn’t quit overthrow.

                And I couldn’t.

                I drag a step forward as if to reinsure myself I’m not trapped. My foot presses onto wooden paneling, I take another, then another and a sweep of utter reinsurance masquerades over me like a cape. I’m free. My hands and arms move. My hand slips through my hair, pulling it back, and letting each silky strain fall.

                What the hell just happened?

                Observing around, I hope to find an answer. The room had awakened into chatty attire. From every girl, there are whispers of a man who is, handsome, fine, and downright sexy and who couldn’t possibly be in a small area like this; especially in Grand Haven. A few glowering stares graze over me, looking me up and down, and then with dissatisfaction curl up their upper lip and turn away.

                Yup, that defiantly happened.  

                I look to Troy hoping to find comfort in his eyes.

                I don’t.

                Not even close.

                He transits across the room up straight, shoulders tucked back, and eyes darted forward. The bottom of his boots presses onto the wooden flooring with a clunk and then each step echoes after another. The ripples in his leather jacket move as he moves with an entity of prowl attack. He reeks of cool defiance and irascibility. Passing me with four swift steps, Troy eases himself in a nearby booth adjoining Izzy and Poppy.

                Trailing behind him, Leonor glides passed me with a steaming vanilla coffee in hand. She pauses gazing up and for a moment her eyes unite with mine. An almost overwhelming mixture of emotions crosses over those clear water eyes; anger, apprehension, and something much more I’ve never seen Leonor express: heaping dread of melancholy.      

                Inadvertently, I ease a step forward seemingly to want to comfort her but stop—suddenly a little hesitant.

                What’s wrong? My eyes ask. Leonor replies with her turning away and sliding in a seat next to Poppy. 

                I frown, feeling somewhat hallow and a bit confused. Slowly I ease myself into the booth sitting opposite of Leonor with Troy on my left; who’s radiating a cool intensity. The moment I sit there’s a flood of delicious strawberry and ice flare in my nostrils. Looking inwardly, I see my drink sitting in between Troy’s forearms. With an ease I pick up the drink and begin to sip the cold liquid down; not daring to sneak a peek at Troy.