Perfect Storms

chapter two

"Look whose digging their own grave, that is what they all say."
Icarus ~ Bastille

I walked into the little coffee shop on the edge of the city. The sky was a deep blue, summer was quickly approaching. My guest was, as I expected, already there. He smiled at me and got up. He leaned in as if to hug me but then thought better of it. Maybe I should questioned his hesitation but I did not. Instead he pulled out a chair for me, I thanked him, already taken aback at his kindness and gentleman-like behavior. His face looked so familiar. His smile could ignite the whole city, it was breathtaking really.
I had tried but failed at composing myself into someone decent. My eyes were as if permanently swollen from my tears and no amount of makeup could hide the dark rims forming beneath them. I had on long black pants and red fitted shirt. Truth was I did not feel like trying.
He on the other hand, was dressed to perfection. He screamed of neat and class in a firm fitting, light blue button up rolled at the sleeves and sleek, dark blue pants. He had glasses on. I had not seen him wearing glasses before.
We said our formal hellos and ordered our drinks before the casual how-do-you-do phase wore off. I caught him looking deeply into my eyes. I had to turn my head away in embarrassment.
"You don't look well, love."
He said softly, as if he were daring to cross some unspeakable border line.
"My boyfriend and I..." I trailed, I felt the deep pit of my stomach give a lurch. "We called it quits." I could not make eye contact with him, I felt a surge of something else, although I could not quite pin point it.
I managed a sigh and smiled to show him it was okay. I did not want him to feel guilty for asking such a question. After all, he probably had no clue.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He said still maintaining a tone of hushed softness. It was a familiar voice. One I could not entirely wrap my head around.
We soon moved on, to other things. We talked about our jobs are daily hobbies. The conversations, to my surprise, came naturally. As if we had been friends for much longer than time would let on.
I liked his demeanor. His smile, the way he laughed. It was nothing like Adam, but that was what brought me comfort. It was refreshing to be able to look at him and not think of someone else.
The longer you live, and the more people you meet, the more personalities, gestures, smiles, laughs - all start to blend together. I've found that you can see the same people in different faces. You can see the same qualities in different people. Sometimes this is a good thing, other times it's not.
Tom did not remind me of anyone. And I found that a great comfort. He was new, untouched by my memory and my mind. I tried to tell myself that that was reason why he was so easy to talk to, I could not admit to myself that I found him alluring in any other way. He talked and I listened idly. I do not know if I was fully listening. I was too busy observing him. His body, his facial expressions. I had a strange feeling with him. One that was suffocating me from the inside. I swallowed it, desperately trying to remove from my brain any past memories I shared with him. No I did not want to think about it. I had not let myself think about it.
******
I went home that evening to a bottle of vodka and takeout. I binged on criminal science shows and drank until I could forgot. I never was the one to get drunk, let alone often, but lately I was at peace with it. I had limits, I never let myself go stupid drunk and I did not drink every single night. It felt good to be normal. To do what a normal girl my age would. Without all the fancy perks of being a global superstar. Some nights I just wanted to drink cheap alcohol and feel sorry for myself.
At least when I was drunk I did not spend my time rolling over all the thoughts in my head.
It would seem as though all my memories of the past few months had been turned over religiously to point where I was unable to make out the truth from the lies. My thoughts of Adam, of our breakup, even of Tom, seemed fabricated by my weariness, romanticized and tampered with by my broken heart. I could hardly tell which events were even real anymore.

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Hm does anyone feel like Taylor might not be telling the whole story? Read the next chapter to find out! (Lol that was total cheese)