Mated to Morpheus

MTM.3

french vanilla and panic

I leaned into the old, but still oddly comfortable, cushion of my favourite booth that was located in the very back of the cafe. My hands gripped the edge of the table as though my life depended on it. And, I let out, yet again, another breath of anxious air.

My back was stinging, my hands were tingling, my legs wouldn't stop shaking, and whatever else came from that forsaken building—that dreadfully captivating man. I tried to pay little to no attention to the pain.

The addicting aroma of strong coffee had already filled the entire coffee shop since it had first opened early this morning. I continued to breathe in the deep, rich scent to calm myself down. Although it seemed like it wasn't helping a whole lot, I kept repeating the same litany—in and out, in and out.

My eyes scanned the busy area. I glanced over the various mismatched mugs that customers held between their hands, steam blowing into their face whenever they took a sip, and I recognized the different chairs that they each sat on. Nothing in the entire place was the same thing, even the couple of booths had their very own, individual fabric design.

Amanda is quirky, incredibly eccentric, even as a stereotypical unique person. I always claimed that the coffee shop was just a reflection of herself. And, I believed myself to be right.

I glued my eyes on the door, and my leg shook, up and down, as I waited in anticipation. I took another hooded glimpse, roughly the hundredth one in the past five minutes, up towards the bell hanging above it entrance. I longed for it to ring, longed for her. She would know exactly what to do to make me not feel so nervous, so inferior.

Sooner than expected, my self-proclaimed expert of a best friend came barrelling through the door with her hair the colour of coal pulled back into a tight, long ponytail. I watched as she sashayed over to our table, her hair swinging back and forth behind her. She knew more than me, about them, but that wasn't saying much.

"Hi, my sweetie," she greeted as soon as she was close enough to grab my face between her thin, long hands. I could feel the coldness of her ring-covered fingers as she began squeezing my cheeks together.

"This is very unprofessional, Viviana," I tried to say, but it came out as an messed up sentence of, 'dis is very unprofishonal, Vivana'.

"Alright, alright, alright-" Viviana sat down in front of me, shuffling into the seat before throwing her elbows over the table and resting her face in the palm of her hands, "-so, what made you change your mind about hanging out today? I mean, usually you don't want to see anyone on your birthday, but over the phone, you practically begged me to come see you. It was a nice surprise, don't get me wrong, but it was so unlike you."

"I know," I agreed with a groan, running my hands down my face, "but, I'm not here for my birthday. I'm here to ask you some questions."

"Questions about what?" She asked with a pucker. In mere seconds, she no longer looked confused as her face suddenly lit up with a familiar glow. Her electric blue eyes brightened with realization. Just when I thought she magically understood my predicament, she stuffed her hand under her shirt, not caring that she was in public, and she pulled out three pieces of hard candy. "Oh-" she shoved the candy across the table and aimed it in my direction, "-this is for you!"

"Candy from your boob?" I questioned, raising my dark eyebrow. "This isn't my birthday present, is it?"

"Hey, be grateful," she laughed through an airy breath. Her eyes widened playfully, and she leaned across the table with a finger pointed down at the candy, "I finally got my nonna to buy something other than just butterscotch."