Asymptote (bxb)

Chapter 5: Carol's Coffee House

I didn't sleep. I stared at the striped ceiling until I heard the rhythmic sound of Miles' sleeping breaths. Then I slid out of his house just after midnight.

As I walked down the asphalt road, hugging my jacket tight around me, I called myself about 80 different names which should never be repeated. Loving him made me hate myself, but I still thought it was worth it.

The cold night air crept up my pant legs and tickled my ears. I kicked cracked pieces of road in front of me and tried to think about anything other than what I had just done. I was disgusting, but that wasn't new. I blew a breath into the cold air and watched it twirl in the air. My fingers were itching to grasp a cigarette. Not to smoke it, just to have it there.

Not a single car passed by, and the only light I could see was a fluorescent pink sign in the distance that said "Carol's Coffee House-open 24 hours". That was all I needed to know.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, rubbing the smooth edges of my lighter as I got closer and closer to that neon sign. The parking lot was empty, and if it wasn't for the one guy inside with an apron dancing, I wouldn't have known it was open.

I pushed on the door and the bell rang loudly, causing the boy to turn suddenly, and slightly sheepishly. Now that I was inside I could hear the music he had been dancing to. It was jazz music. Like not even Frank Sinatra or Bobby Darin, just instrumental jazz music.

He looked at me for a second, and then he turned and ran into the back somewhere. I stood there for a second, wondering if I should leave or not. I decided that it would only be more awkward if I left, so I settled into a seat in the back corner that looked onto the dead street. All there was to see were the stoplights blinking.

I could see the reflection of the boy approaching me in the window (boy probably wasn't the correct word since he was older than me for certain). He ran his hand through his dark, messy hair and pulled out a little notepad and pen from his red apron.

"What can I get you?" He had a strong Irish accent, but incredibly soft and smooth.

I tapped my fingers lightly against the table, still staring out at the empty streets.

"Dark roast, please."

He smiled and shoved the notepad back, disappearing behind the bar.

I wondered if he could tell what I'd done. As if somehow, the entire world could see who I really was. God, I was so pathetic. I should really be used to it by now.

He hummed to himself while he made the coffee. I tried to place the tune, and then it hit me. "That's Life". This boy really liked jazz. He had a tattoo that peaked out from the sleeve of his white uniform shirt. It was the outline of the world map, and it said 'baile' underneath.

I tapped my fingertips on the table in time with his humming, and his smile brightened. I watched his figure approach me through the reflection, a mug of coffee on a plate in his hand. He set it on the table in front of me and pulled out a bunch of sugars and cream from his apron.

"I didn't know how you wanted it," he said.

"It's perfect. Thank you." Those two words were hard to muster, the two words he had just said to me. God, Bailey, get over it. I hadn't even tasted it yet, but I knew it was perfect. It could have tasted like road salt and it still would have been perfect compared to what I had just done.

"Mind if I sit with you? It's awfully boring here at night."

I looked up to meet eyes with him for the first time. He had kind eyes that were a soft brown, nearly amber.

I shrugged in response, and he took it as a yes, sliding into the seat next to mine.

"I haven't seen you here before," he said with conviction, as if he would remember every single person who had walked in here. Or maybe it was his way of saying that he would have remembered someone like me. Maybe he was one of them.

"Never been before. Not really from around here."

"Even if you were, it's not like this place is some local attraction."

"True." I laughed a little, almost meaning it, as I blew on my coffee. I swirled the liquid with the stir stick, watching it circle around in the mug and coming close to pouring over the edges, but always staying inside.

"Are you going to drink it or..."

"I wouldn't have let you sit with me if I knew you were going to be so judgemental," I half-joked, taking a sip of the coffee. It was glorious. Smooth, creamy, strong, lush. It was inarguably the best coffee I'd ever tasted.

"Not judging, just curious. You're interesting."

"How so?"

"You come into to an empty coffee shop at one in the morning, refuse to look at the only other person, and just stare out the window. And for a while it seemed like you weren't even going to drink the coffee."

"Well, I did, and it was amazing, but you probably knew that already."

"Is it conceited of me to say I did?"

"Yes, but I'm the only one here to judge you for it," I said, sipping at the coffee again.

I watched the light turn from green to yellow, and so does the boy.

"Where are you from?"

"Dublin. Southside."

"The posh side," I corrected, and his eyes ventured to mine even though my head was still turned from him.

"You've been?"

"My family is from Lucan. We go every Christmas."

"That's more often than I go," he said, almost sadly. He tapped his fingers on the underside of the table, and then pushed up from the chair.

"I should get back to work."

"Yeah, look at all these people waiting to be served!" I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. "If I was boring you that much you could have just said so."

"It's not that. My shift ends soon, which means someone else is coming and I probably shouldn't be just sitting around when they get here."

"I should be leaving anyways," I replied, finishing the last sip of my coffee and then standing up from the chair.

"See you around?"

"Probably not. I think this was a onetime thing," I said with a smile. When I said think I really meant hope, but he didn't need to know that.

"I'm positive you'll be back." He smirked and I laughed, tucking my hands into my pockets and preparing to venture back out into the cold. Coffee boy grabbed my cup and dish from the table, heading towards the bar again.

I opened the door to leave, the bell chiming. Just as I stuck one foot outside I heard him call, "What's your name?"

"I'll tell you next time."