Thirty One Days

Coffee

A normal- well, a typical day for me consists of waking up late morning, then a mix of online school work, attempting to eat, and bingeing T.V. shows, followed by a restless night of fighting myself. The sounds that I hear. The shadows that dance across my walls. And trying to remember if I left my bathroom door open or not. However, today my routine is broken by my brother. He convinced me to leave the house, which I rarely did unless it was to go to a doctors appointment.
In an attempt to reconnect with my old self, I put some makeup on, avoiding dark colors, and even put on some lip gloss. Then threw on something other than leggings and a baggy, old t-shirt.

The cafe Dylan chose was on the far side of town, the side known as the Fields, mostly due to a large number of fields that use to hold crops but now inhabited weirdos. Not that I  have much room to talk, honestly. However, many people that live in the Fields deal with witchcraft and voodoo, many are deformed due to the chemicals that were used on the fields, and it is common to stumble upon someone who is conversing with themselves. 
As we entered the cafe I immediately knew this would be a challenge. Unlike most days, where I was able to slide throughout the day with only a few little episodes, thanks to taking a double dose of my medication.
It smelt of coffee grinds, oozing jellies, cigarettes, and too much perfume. A smell that made my lungs collapse into themselves. The cafe was very simplistic and contained mostly steel furniture with bright, colorful accents like flowers, candles, and figurines. The walls were covered in political posters, protest signs, and runway models. Runway models that mocked me as I hide behind a face of makeup, their eyes knew could see that I was nothing more than a shell of my former self. The brightly colored posters against the solid white wall and the artificial lights, which they didn't try to soften in the least bit, beat against my eyes.
The floor was a mix of different styled carpets and rugs, thrown lazily around without care or coordination. At one end of the cafe was a sunlit steel stage, for poetry readings I assume, and at the other was a steel coffee and dessert bar. The bar held a smiling, gothic girl with many holes in her face that inhabited peeking maggots.
My chest tensed up as we walked closer.
"Welcome to the Darken Roast, is this your first time?" Her steel tongue ring clicked in her mouth as she spoke, causing the center of my tongue to burn intensely as I tried to calm my stomach from the sight of her infestation.
"Yeah, a friend of mine suggested this place." Dylan smiled charmingly at her, she in return blushed, but she couldn't see the sharpened teeth hidden in Dylan's mouth.
"Really? Who?" Her voice was harsh and I wondered if she was the smoker.
"Istvan, he's like 6' 4" with brown hair-"
"Oh yes!" She didn't attempt to hold back a giggle, "He doesn't speak much, right?"
"Yeah," Dylan became uncomfortable and skipped to placing our orders then found us a seat near a window. "You don't get sun much," He offered with a laugh after we sat in awkward silence for a hand fun of seconds.
Happy that I decided to wear pants, I avoid placing my hands on the table and wondered how long I would be able to sit. "Don't have much reason to go outside,"
She brought us our coffee and I could see a crudely written number on the side of Dylan's cup. He didn't seem to notice it. Or care.  
"Why?"
My skin prickled with anxiety, could I tell him that I didn't know? He would keep pushing, he always did until the answer was presented. Dad always wanted Dylan to be an investigator.
"It's not as appealing, I guess." I finally said as I mixed sugar into my coffee while trying not to look at it.
"The sun isn't appealing?" He asked and when I said nothing he sighed quietly, his bright eyes glancing out the window before falling back on me. Partly wishing that would have stayed focused on whatever had caught his attention outside. "When did this start? Seeing what you see, what do you see?"
After a moment of pondering his questions, which were the same question I asked myself almost every day, I looked up at him. "It started at the beginning of last summer but I didn't tell mom until you left for school." Would that be good enough for him? Probably not, what else could I say? "It wasn't like it is now, in the beginning." 
The gothic barista walked past us, as I watched her sparkly black shoes I realized her soles were clicking. Like the sound of rock on bone. She wiped down the table across from ours leaving it colored deep red. 
Swallowing hard, I turned my eyes back towards Dylan who was staring down at his coffee thoughtfully. The chair was starting to burn and I couldn't help but shift around, why did I agree to this? I should have asked more questions before agreeing as Dylan would have, but Dylan wouldn't have handled any of this as I have been. He was cunning, vigilant, and thoughtful when he handled things, while I'm messy. 
"What happened in the bathroom last night?" Dylan finally said after taking a sip of his coffee and dragging his finger across the tables razor edge. Blood trickled down the side of his finger, dripping into his coffee before he took another sip. The taste of iron filled my mouth, making me sway as I forced myself to swallow. 
Blinking rapidly I turned away. "Um, I'm not really sure. I've never had an experience like that before, there was so much blood," My voice trailed off when I could feel Dylan's eyes focus on me. I hated the attention. 
I needed to get off this chair.  
"Jesus, you and Istvan are always so jittery." His tone was stuck somewhere between annoyed and joking, leaning back in his own chair.
"Istvan..."
Dylan snorted, "Yeah, that big dork said he was going to meet us here. I don't even like the coff-"
"He did?" I cut him off, eyes flashed towards him in curiosity. He nodded, "Why?" 
"He likes this place," Dylan shrugged, annoyance seemed to settle in his tone as I readjusted in the chair. Did Istvan and he have a fight? Dylan and Istvan were usually inseparable, since the day they first met. 
Things were quiet for a moment as we sipped coffee and I continued to squirm on the chair. The colors of the posters on the wall started to drip and slide off and into the floor. The puddles of colors bubbles and smoked, causing my lungs to burn again. I briefly wondered if the gothic girl would bother to clean it up, then remembered that she probably couldn't see the mess anyways. 
"I'm worried about you, Stevie." Dylan finally said just as my hands began to shake.
"Why?"
"Don't tell Istvan I told you this but," Dylan took a deep breath and let it out slowly, eyes growing dark. "The end of my freshman year of high school Istvan started acting funny, slept all the time, never wanted to hang out, you remember?"
I nodded, mom had made many remarks about it. Even went as far as to visit his mother and talk with her about the change in behavior. Mom was worried about Istvan running away while Dylan was worried about him committing suicide. 
"Well, April before school let out, he stopped showing up. I called his mom who told me that he was sick and that he wouldn't be gone for long." Dylan paused for a moment. "He was gone for a year and a half and when he returned he acted as nothing happened. He wouldn't talk about where he went or why." He shook his head, "It was as if the last year and a half didn't happen for him." 
We sat I silence and the scene of Istvan flinching played over and over in my head. Taunting me. Playing with me. Driving me deeper into insanity.
"And you're acting like he did before he disappeared."