Laine Transformation

Chapter Seven

 Here I am at twenty-four with the flush feeling of dehydration throughout my head overwhelming me. My lips stick together with rusted blood taste and my tongue sticks behind my teeth in a vacuum like I'd swallowed a tube of glue. I sip a coffee with relief and anguish. It's good for my hangover, but the bitter taste is less than enjoyable as it splashes through my veins and to my already racing heart due to the previous nights festivities.

The table in the coffee shop I sit at is against a window in the corner where I'd hoped no one would bother me, more so where I'd hope no one would see me. The cold metal chair sends an unwelcoming shiver up my cold bones and takes me to the feeling of puking on the floor. I watch with glazed over eyes the Sunday joggers glide by determined in their happy and healthy state while I do my best not to acknowledge the few other people in the tiny shop with their strollers or laptops meeting friends or typing away.

There's a wiping noise to the left of me, a quiet yet irritating noise. I work to ignore it; pulling my phone out to immerse myself in whatever bullshit news or social update I could, but it keeps coming. It's more of a light scratch against a piece of thick paper now. I adjust my slumped over body casually as the more I thought about it the more enraged I become in my hangover state of mind. Last night was my birthday and last night sucked.

I pull the sleeves of my cotton navy shirt down over my hands and quickly gaze around the shop in hopes I wouldn't see anyone I recognized. Half way through the rotation I stop dead. There's a beautiful, mysterious man sketching away.

Hunched over effortlessly into a pile of tattered papers and fingertips covered in black from charcoal he was using on the paper peaked my curiosity. His dark brown hair is long in the back with slightly greasy shaggy bangs, pushed behind his ear. Strands fall straight down into his face as he works and drinks coffee. He's wearing a time thinned t-shirt from under a beaten leather jacket and sweatshirt, definitely my type. I keep trying to look away but I can't help myself.

He is interesting and he is beautiful. He keeps focus without fault as he re-traces lines on the page simply. I could see from his side profile the bags under his eyes and lips colored beautifully pink. I can't help but admire for what seemed like hours, but could have only been minutes. He looks in my direction once and it's like he's looking directly at me, but I tell myself I'm sure he's looking through me. It sends an overwhelming feeling of insecurity.

I am embodied by disgust today; my feelings and appearance are full of it. My hair in blonde clumps pulled back in a pony tail. The only think I managed to do this morning was brush my teeth, put on deodorant, and change clothes. I am in yesterday's makeup and sweat pants. I throw my coffee out and walk down the alley way behind the shop and to my front door. I open the door and throw myself onto the couch replaying in my head the events of last night once again. I fall asleep again.

Today's Thursday and the sky is clear blue. I wake up to the rays of sun through the cracks in my blinds laying delicately over my eyelids. It feels like it was a sign that this day will give me what I need. What I need most is to be productive and stay on track. I roll out of bed and into black fuzzy slippers parked at my bed end and head to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror as I slide my hand down to the other wrist and feel the sting that's present from nights prior. "This is not who I am". I tell myself. "Today will be different."

With that mindset I shower and shuffle through the drawers of unfolded clothes. They're in no particular order as always. I dress myself in a white v-neck with black jeans and push a comb through frizzed out honey curls.

I make the walk down my long oak hall way and lock the door behind me with my laptop at my side. I'm eager to take my mind off things and do some research. I already had Darren blowing up my phone about my Wednesday's deadline.