The Truths We Hide

"I wouldn't have done this, you have to believe me." His deep voice responds, low and crackling, his words echoing throughout the thunder and bouncing around the walls of the room, unable to settle in the corners of brick as well as the corners of my mind. Multicolored eyes are daggers under furrowed eyebrows, a look of distraught. Time is speeding fast, my heart thumping as I stare at the boy, the man before me that I thought I knew. An unrecognizable look is on his face, one I've never even began to have seen before, cold and tense. Rain thunders down outside, the wind smashing it against the window in loud plunks, the occasional rumble mixed with slow foot steps stomping down the long halls on the other side of the crusty, blue door. I sit in disbelief, flashes of a warm smile going through my mind. In my head, I see him standing at the counter, the smell of warmth, honey and cinnamon radiate the Café. It's busy outside, blues and reds stagger as they pass, people pushing through to get on about their day. We watch as kids stumble by with books bags, laughter filling the air and seeping under the front doors cracks, making the room feel like home. That sense of reality comes crashing down with the accusation, the walls begin to crush and grind down into the earth before us, those memories we had once built together compacting into the soil beneath the structure of our feet. I sit still as I look on into the space, trying to focus on drowning out all of the thoughts within the air between us. There was a time when his eyes used to glide seamlessly, taking in orders from customers within our safe haven. Now, before me sits a man, a look of fear and defense rooted to the core of his being, the look of a killer.
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In a large city lies a Café, and mixed within are the many truths we tend to hide.