Bildungsroman

Closure

Closure was her purpose.

Or, was it vengeance?

She couldn't decide now, even after two years, even after staring at the stranger in front of her for what felt like an eternity.

Even though he was a regular, she had never been given the chance to look this closely at his face. Usually when he came in she would be working on her laptop, too engrossed in it to offer him or his friends anything other than a glace of acknowledgment. Now, though, he stood only a few centimeters away from her.

He was quite beautiful.

The first thing she noticed were his eyes. They were a warm, chocolatey brown, glistening with a quaint curiosity as they regarded her quizzically. They were innocent enough, vulnerable even. But, upon closer inspection, she saw that they held a coyness, a cleverness, as if he knew the exact effect he had on her. Still they twinkled with a gleam of shyness.

Next, her gaze roamed over his attire. He was dressed simply enough, a casual blue dress shirt tucked unceremoniously into a pair of black trousers. An orange-tan overcoat hung off his shoulders, stopping at his knees. Even though he wore plain clothing, his posture hinted at class, an expensiveness she couldn't put her finger on.

What really got her was his resemblance to him. They had the same bone structure, a smooth jawline ending with a slightly oval chin. Their hair was the same brown, a shade that looked natural, but revealed itself to be dyed upon closure inspection.

Most importantly, one of his eyelids was double lidded while the other remained a mono lid, just like him.

She snapped out of her analysis of him and cleared her throat. She wasn't ashamed of her staring. (She knew that she had done it discreetly enough for him not to notice.) However, what did make her uncomfortable was the proximity of his body to hers. She could feel the heat radiating off of him; it unsettled her.

His voice broke her concentration, "So, you're a fan of Van Gogh?"

"Yes," she found herself whispering.

The stranger took no notice of this as he stared at her laptop. He bent over for a closer look, coming even closer to her. There was buzzing in the air around them, an electricity that cloaked their atmosphere.

"May I?" He motioned at the laptop, but his eyes were trained directly on hers.

Despite herself, her eyes were pulled to his lips. They're heart shaped, she noted, Just like his. "Yes," she whispered, once again, caught in a daze.

Why did I just say that?

He placed his hand over the mouse pad of her laptop, dragging the cursor on her screen. His fingers are so slender, she examined, Just like his.

They moved rhythmically over her laptop, pausing over the folder on her desktop named Music, where she kept her creations. Her eyes were locked on his hands.

He tapped on the icon once. Wait, is he trying to open m-

He tapped on the icon again, twice.

Her heart skipped a beat in panic. "Wait!" She bellowed, suddenly able to find her voice again, "What are you doing?!"

He jumped back, removing his hands from her laptop, startled at her exclamation. Without a second thought, her hand came out and snapped the screen of her laptop down. She turned toward him, "You can't do that!"

"But you gave me permission?" The stranger questioned her.

Now, she was flustered, "I d-did, but that d-doesn't," she stuttered, then paused, regaining her composure, "I apologize for my outburst. I didn't think you had intentions to look in that folder. It's private. I'm sorry."

He raised an eyebrow in doubt, staring at her.

She didn't return his look; she was already packing up to go. She was back to her senses now, and the cafe suddenly felt too small.

She wanted out.

As she started towards the door, she remembered her manners and gave him a quick bow, "Again, I apologize for earlier. Good night."

Then, with the swift turn of her heel, she nearly ran to the door, setting off the ding from the bell atop it.

The night's cool air greeted her as she began to stroll back to her apartment.

She thought back to her encounter with the boy just a few moments ago. She recalled his face, how it nearly identified with his.

In an instant, she was back to her apartment in New York, standing barefoot in her pajamas as she regarded him. The stench of alcohol on his breath as he pleaded with her. The sound of the ringing in her ears. The feeling of the blood draining from her face. The taste of self hatred as she said those words to him.

Him. It was all because of him. Her fear, her ambition, her silence, her regret. Her mistress, her hunter, her companion, her ruin.

Her.

Something spurned inside of her.

Now, she had decided.

Vengeance.

Vengeance was her purpose.