Beastly • H.S

~One~

Not edited

I sit at a corner table, my usual spot, in the coffee shop that I come to every day. My laptop is set in front of me and I type away my thoughts and feelings as I sip on my coffee every few minutes. My glasses that I mainly use just for reading are set atop of my nosebridge as I repeatedly hit the keys of my laptop.

I can hear the clattering of dishes, the bell on the coffee shop door ringing evertime someone walks in, the murmuring of people talking about what their plans are for the day, the TV that hangs on a near by wall displaying the news channel, and the footsteps of people walking past me unhurriedly.

This is like my daily ritual; coming to Dave's Coffee House every morning on the week days and enjoy my job of editing and writing books. My friend thinks it's the most boring thing someone could ever do as a job, but I don't. I think quite the opposite actually. To me, writing your own stories is relaxing. It brings me to a whole 'nother world, and honestly that's the best feeling ever. To just sit at a computer, a laptop, a phone, or a typewriter and just bleed out your emotions and put it in words and then there you go; you just created a world for someone to step in and adventure through.

When I'm here I exclude myself from everything around me. I ignore the fact that the room is filled with commotion and just write. It's easy if you set your mind to it.

"Hello, Avery" I look away from my laptop screen and to the voice who said my name. My eyes meet Mrs. Lockhart's, one of the workers here that I enjoy talking to.

"Hi, Mrs. Lockhart" I say and press the save button before I close the device and turn my attention to her. "Do you need something?" I ask. She takes a seat across from me and shakes her head.

"Not at all, just wanted to sit and chat" she tells me and gives me a small grin.

"Chat about what?" I chuckle and take off my glasses. She usually doesn't interrupt me when I'm here writing so I guess she needs to tell me something that is at least important to her.

"Well, as you know, every year I throw a party for Justin and he wanted to invite you, just like he did last year, so would you like to come?" She asks carefully and I raise my eyebrows at her.

"Justin invited me?" I ask. Justin is her son, he's my age, 20. Mrs. Lockhart has been trying to get me to date her son ever since Ive met him. He's a handsome man but he's just not my type, he seems to...plain Jane of a guy.

"Yeah, he told me to ask you If you'd accept his invitation..." She said.

"I don't know, Mrs. Lockhart. I-"

"You came last year," she points out in a slight wine.

"I didn't have a busy job last year either, I have a busy schedule Mrs. Lockhart and my job is very important to me." I tell her.

"Oh, come on, all you do is sit at a computer and type letters all day nonstop." She complains and I give her a content smile and an airy laugh.

"I am an editor, that is my job and they aren't letters, they're stories." I say and she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.

"Think about it? For me?" She pouts and I laugh.

"I'll think about it, but there is no promises made here," I tell her and she smiles excitedly at me.

"Great!" She claps her hands together and I shake my head good-naturedly at her behavior. For a thirty-six year old women she sure can have the mind of a teenager.

"Okay, I'm gonna get back to work now, don't think too hard about it..." She say as she gets up out of her seat and walks back to the kitchen.

I sigh and cross my hands on the table, laying my head on top of them and closing my eyes. I let all of the boisterous noises invade my ears and when I think I've had enough I raise my head, unfolding my arms and taking a sip of my coffee. Just what I needed.

I open my laptop and continue my diligent and thoughtful typing.

***

By the time I was done and finished with my writing it was closing hours for the shop, but they always stay open an hour later than said.

My coffee cup is now empty, just a drop of my black coffee sat in the bottom of the white glass cup. I rub my eyes with the back of my hands and close my laptop gently. I look around the shop and see that the place is nearly vacant. I hear dishes being washed and I bet it is Stan, the only worker who stays at night to lock up the coffee house.

I yawn and strectch out my legs and arms, the muscles being tense from sitting all day in one position, before putting my laptop in its bag, swinging the strap over my shoulder and getting out of the seat.

As I walk up to the bar where I usually wait for Stan to walk out to bid him goodbye and all that, my eyes scan over the whole place and stop and land on someone wearing a black hoodie with dark gray sweats. He's facing me and by the attire on this person I'm assuming it is a guy, but I can't see his face. His hoodie is pulled over his head in a way as if he's hiding himself from someone and he keeps his gaze down at his cup that he keeps messing with with his fingers, making it more harder for me to examine him. But I notice that his hands, that continuously fiddle with the spoon in his cup, have tattoos on them, like stems and vines that reach his fingers and make random swirls and loops here and there.

As I stare at his hands, wondering why he would get that tattooed on his arms, I here the sound of a dish fall to the floor with a loud 'clank'. My eyes stay glued to the mans hand, as if I'm in a trance until this mysterious guys head shoots up at the sound of the dish hitting the floor and a chilled gasp leaves my mouth as stare at him.

His face, much like his hands, have scars and weird markings on it that trail down to his neck covering a great percentage of his skin and snakes into his T-shirt. I can see his hair, that falls to his shoulders, is a dark brown and slightly curly, also hard to see as it's hidden in his hoodie. I divert my attention from his hair and my eyes land on his own eyes, I can't see the color of them since I'm at a distance from him, but I can still feel the uneasiness I get from the stare and the goosebumps I get from how intimidating he seems.

My eyes jot to his hands that clinch into fist so tightly and I swear that I saw one of his tattoos, the one with some sort of animal on it to be exact, moved. My eyes squint into slits and I stare harder at the same tattoo, but it doesn't move again. Did it even move in the first place? Maybe its just my eyes deceiving me, tattoes can't move. That's impossible, I think to myself unsurly.

All of a sudden he jumps up out of his chair and storms out of the shop in a frantic hurry, the door shutting slowly behind him. I frown in confusion and look back at his table to see a coin in the booth seat. I walk to the table and pick it up warily.

It must've fallen out of his pocket when he got up. The coin looks old, the dark silver looks faded and the thing itself is heavy. Its about the size of a quarter, maybe bigger and it has writing on it, along with a carving of a tree that looks dead. The writing is in some other language that I don't understand, it almost looks like the Theban alphabet. If it is, what does it say?

I bite my lip in curiosity and stuff the coin into my computer bag with a huff.

I go back to the bar and Stan still hasn't came out so I just leave him a note on a napkin saying that I left and for him to have a goodnight.

I walk out of the shop, the cool air hitting my face and sending a wave of shivers through me. I stuff my hands into my pocket as my mind is swimming in so many waves questions.

I don't know if I should try and find that man and give him his coin back, or if I should keep it until he comes back for it. Either way, I'm still curious to find out what this coin means and what it's for.

Sucky ending I know, but its an update!! Yay. Vote and comment please.