Behind these walls

Despondent

I sit in the quaint café, the night sky outside gloomy as the soft pitter patter of rain drops cascades down the clear glass windows, disorientating the reality outside. My tea cup sits snugly in my hands, puffs of barely there steam swirling into the air, disappearing into nothing more than a surreal vision. Cars roll past, their headlights glistening like diamonds when the rain drops catch the light which sends yellow and orange streaks of colour into the café. The warmth of my tea seeps through the porcelain cup and settles my shaking fingers. My head swarms with the memory of what my father told me. Sweat gathers on my forehead despite the cool breeze of the air conditioning that sends little kisses down my neck and makes me shiver purely on reflex. My head feels laden with sleep but my brain refuses to let me think of anything other than the news I had heard just hours before. Darkness envelopes the world outside, streetlights doing little other than casting a faint glow against the hard bitumen floor and the pedestrians running under it. My stomach quakes and I feel nausea rolling around in my stomach.

Deep in thought, I lose track of time like a thief casually stealing it away from me as if it was part of an everyday routine, but I don't mind. My trembling hand reaches to the handle of the teacup that has been embodied with smooth, shiny paint in the picture of bright red roses and rich green vines with sharp thorns tangling through each other. The colours of the cup are the perfect contrast against the unusual café's design of timber floorboards and black walls with vintage lightshades hanging over carefully placed lights and it makes me feel that little bit lighter, knowing that other things could be different but still worth wile. The golden edge of the unusual tea cup reaches my parted yet chapped lips and I take a sip only to have a cold liquid find its way down my dry throat instantly disappointing me with the lack of warmth the beverage should have provided. Instead, it felt cold and useless, kind of how I felt right now.

Outside, men in bulking blue coats hide their necks into their collars in an attempt to stop the rain from making contact with their skin. They run undercover into the warmth of the café with rain drops falling onto the dry timber flooring. Drip drop, drip drop. They shuck out of their padded clothing with quick, deft movements and welcome the coolness of the air conditioning. I look back out the window, the darkness contrasting perfectly to my dull mood.

I was pulled out of school early by my father and he told me the most devastating news which instantly made me feel despondent, and when I ran from him, I ended up here.

A tear trickles down my pale face, cold against my warm skin. I had been sitting here in the café on a rickety although vintage chair all alone for hours on end, until darkness creeped up on the sunset and stars shone in the atmosphere, bright in the dense cloud filled sky. The rain dies down outside and the droplets on the steam filled windows from the warmth inside start to disappear, although not quick enough for evaporation to take them. I run a still quivering hand on the ice cold feel of the glass and wipe away the condensation blocking my view. The Old Church on the other side of the road stands high and tall with the moon casting a faint glow over its rough, picturesque bricked surface.

This time, a tear drizzles out of the corner of my other eye, clouding my eyesight to the point where focusing on anything was pointless. I wipe away the tear that nestles itself on the outer part of my eye and blink quickly to dry my eyelashes so they will flutter against my cheeks again. My heart throbs as my stomach lurches with the now sickening memory of her. I gulp in the largest breath my lungs could handle and slowly let it out, in an attempt to calm the marathon racing in my heart and the vile butterflies in my stomach. I put a shaky hand over my mouth to cover my muffled sobs and I close my eyes, not wanting to disturb anyone else with the despondency that is unfolding right in front of them, which was me.

A hand rests gently on my shoulder and I quickly pop open my eyes to see who the hand belongs to. Pity in his chocolate eyes makes me feel even worse. He lets go and I hear the scrape of a chair being moved to be beside mine. I didn't care that I was angry at him anymore, I just needed someone, anyone to share my pain with and carry a part of my burden as my shoulders felt too frail to carry it any longer. I lean my head on his muscled shoulder and he reaches up to run his hand down my probably dry and rattled hair as a comforting signal. He doesn't push me away. He lets me rest there with my eyes shut until sleep finally drags on my brain and forces me under it. Before it takes its last hold on me, he lifts me gently in his muscled arms and takes me to his car where he places me softly on the leather chairs and buckles me in a seatbelt.

"Goodnight, Clara," he whispers in my ear with a soft squeeze of my hand before he shuts the back door and drives away to where his house sits, a few cul-de-sacs away.

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Question time! what do you think her dad told her? I'd love to know what you think below! Vote and comment if you enjoyed this chapter :)