Different Yet The Same

Chapter Seven

-Ember-

Spark is sitting beside Caleb on the curb, the front of her pink long sleeved shirt with white stripes, soaked from the ice.

She treats him as if he's a dog she's found on the road, beaten and bruised. Sadly enough, he acts the part as well, looking innocent and sweet, a flower, small and frail.

As she mumbles to him reassuringly, he sits there eyes locked on the horizon, deep in thought.

"I can't take this anymore." I grunt. "Have fun taking care of the wounded Spark, I'm going to work." Mumbling a response Spark goes back to helping Caleb.

I walk off my feet pounding the earth in a rhythm, depicting anger and frustration. He isn't worth it. She's to tender, to loving, to kind. She needs to learn to think with her head not her heart.

The wind suddenly comes in strong, blowing my hair into my face, tangling it into knots that I will never be able to get out.

I grunt and shove my hair into the hood of my old navy blue sweater, my sneakers kicking the edge of the curb as I balance my weight on it. My pale jeans with rips all down the front, exposing my skin, causing me to shiver whenever the wind blows.

My body is warming, my rage and fury coursing through me, feeding my desire to tear Caleb limb from limb.

It will consume me, sustain me, become me. I won't fight my desire to hurt anyone who threatens me or anyone I love, in anyway. Caleb has to go. He may have been my friend but it has gone to far. He has gone to far.

Still deep in thought, I climb the steps to Herringdales Brew, and open the door when I am greeted with the smell of hot chocolate and freshly baked pastries.

I slide behind the counter and enter the kitchen, waving a greeting to the cook as I do so. Throwing on my apron and slapping some powder on it to make it look like I wasn't as late as I was.

I start to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies, as Mrs. Herringdale walks in and looks at me. She waddles over and starts to help me with the cookie preparations.

"Ember, what's bothering you sweetie?" she asks in her sweet old lady voice, but anyone who has worked for her knows that the sweet old lady she appears to be is only used when she knows it will help her get something. In reality she's as tough as nails.

"I'm fine Mrs. Herringdale, honestly I am." I pour all the ingredients into a large mixing bowl and start to stir it. Mrs. Herringdale preps the counter with flour and sugar.

"Tell me." She says sternly. "Spark isn't here, neither is Caleb and you look ready to punch a hole through a wall." She states very bluntly.

"They're just busy, I promise I'll work three times as hard so I can cover for them, until they get here..." I say. "If they get here..." I add in a whisper.

She sighs and leaves the kitchen, abandoning me to be overrun by my thoughts.

By 4:00 business has slowed, waving a farewell to the cook and the rest of the kitchen staff I flee from the coffee shop.

She never came.

He never came.

I can't take it anymore.

I am so done.

My anger keeps me warm amidst the frigid wind, slapping me from every direction. I stuff my hands in my pockets and walk briskly in the direction of home.

Rounding the corner, I can hear the faintest sound of a musical laughter. I narrow my eyes and can see Spark and Caleb sitting on our front lawn, amongst a pile of sketch books and canvases.