Ghost Of You (A Novella)

Chapter Five (REWRITTEN)

Avery jolted awake with a frightened gasp, the alarm from her dream accompanying her into reality. A groggy exasperation shook her whole body. Grabbing the cell from the nightstand, she jammed a finger into it, violently shutting off that despicable wake-up warning.

Frantically, she jumped out of bed. It was her eight o'clock alarm that had finally gotten her attention... the last of three preset alerts to demand her preparation for work. Unfortunately, that last alarm was the one that screamed she needed to walk out the door now if she wanted to make it to work on time.

Giving Milo a last second scratch on the chin, she was dressed and out the door in under fifteen minutes. Funny how the fear of being late caused her to disregard the open doors, drawers, and cabinets from last night.

***

Her untimeliness should have been the first indication that the day would not be redeemable in any way, shape, or form.

Fifteen minutes tardy turned into twenty-five by the time she actually sprinted inside the Coffee Cafe, squeezing through the crowd of local patrons. Friday morning was one of their busiest days, as people were urgently attempting to drink in the motivation to finish their last day of the work week. Quickly tying on her apron, she relieved her disgruntled manager from the register, knowing full and well she was the reason for his displeasure. She also understood that she would be stuck in this position for the next six hours.

Four unhappy customers, two spilled drinks, a few random coffee stains on her shirt, and one full bladder later, she was anxiously counting down the minutes until she could clock out.

That was, at least, until John waddled up to the counter.

Short for a man and obviously quite bitter about it, he never hid his distaste for life—so much so, even his hair ran far, far away from him. With a messy comb over, it was painfully clear that John had not accepted his inevitable bald-headed fate. Lifting his small glasses by his pudgy cheeks alone, he looked at her expectantly.

"Same as always, John?" She used her most pleasant customer voice, understanding completely that this interaction would only go one of two ways per usual. She hoped beyond all hope that it was the more positive direction.

But as a sneer transformed his dull, almost lifeless features, her heart dropped, "I've been standing in line for twenty minutes now, girl."

It was actually four, but who's counting?

"I'm so sorry John, you know how Fridays get around here," She smiled apologetically and slid his cup across the counter to him. Thankfully, the barista she was working with today knew John's order by heart and had already begun to prepare it when she noticed him in line. "On the house for the inconvenience."

Most days, Avery could soothe dissatisfied customers with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. Despite loathing the human race as much as she did, she had excellent customer service skills. Men were generally easier to appease than women. She figured it was because the idea of possibly making a young woman cry wasn't something they looked forward to but she liked to think it was because she was delightfully cute. An ego boost every so often never hurts.

But John, on the other hand, was a tougher cookie to crack. Avery had never been able to please that man and though she assumed she was in good company, she never quit trying.

However, a new day and another chance meant nothing to him. "Free coffee will not make up for the money you just cost me! I'm late for work!" And as his voice grew louder and his face turned redder, Avery could do nothing but wish for a rock to crawl under.

The whole cafe went silent, all eyes focused on the grumpy man and the innocent girl he was berating. "If Julie would hire competent staff, I wouldn't have these issues every goddamn morning!"

She winced at his vile words, feeling personally attacked. While Avery knew she was very good at her job and he was just a miserable ass, she still had to repeat such assurances to herself. Her cheeks instantly flushed, a familiar burning sensation in her eyes made her blink rapidly. It was cruel that she had to stand there and take his insults when she would rather put him in place. Unfortunately, she needed this job. She had rent to make. So she tried again, "I'm very sorry for—"

"I dont need your fucking apologies!" He cut her off, spittle showering her face and arms. John's bulging glare stared her down before he snatched his coffee cup in his sausage-fingered hand and chucked it at her.

Suddenly, a new knowledge about herself came to light—her fight or flight response also, apparently, included 'freeze' because that was what her body chose to do at that moment.

Helplessly, she watched the lidless cup violently slosh dark liquid from its rim, soaring directly at her face with wide, unblinking eyes. Even armed with the knowledge that it was going to scald every inch of her skin, she still couldn't move.

But with a slight misdirection at the very last second, it soared left, just narrowly missing her and hitting the wall as if deflected by some outside angelic force.

Startled, she glanced over her shoulder. Hot coffee splattered against the wall with a sickening splat. The temperature differential caused steam to waft through the air, dancing up and away from the brown liquid now pooling on the counter.

She should have been terrified. She should have been furious. Maybe even allowed those stupid tears to flow from her eyes and down her cheeks. All of that seemed like healthy reactions to what had just transpired. But all Avery felt was annoyed—annoyed that she would be responsible for cleaning up that scorching mess after John finally left. It wasn't right and it certainly wasn't fair that she had to eat the crap he was dishing out and then bend over and ask for more because that is what is referred to as "customer service."

Perturbed that his aim was off, John huffed away and headed toward the door, his free beverage seemingly less important in the present than one would have previously imagined. Avery cautiously monitored his retreating back, half worried he would change his mind and spin around for a second go at her. But before his hand could hit the metal bar on the glass door, an empty chair sailed effortlessly across the floor out of its own accord.

John's shins smacked into the steel frame with such force, even Avery jumped. His legs became tangled within the chair as he struggled to keep his balance.

It was futile.

His head crashed against the glass. The weight of the impact caused his top half to tumble ungracefully outside, face-planting on the concrete sidewalk. His bottom half remained over the poor chair, his feet kicking at the legs to release their hold on him. Like a turtle trying to roll off its back, he fought so valiantly to right himself that she almost felt sorry for him.

The patrons in an uproar of levity did not help matters. Every time John tried and failed, they laughed harder.

When he did finally manage to stand, he smoothed down his wrinkled shirt and hardened his sweaty face. With a single meaty finger, he pointed at her, "You'll be hearing from my lawyer!"

Any young woman would understandably be apprehensive towards such a threat, even if they didn't own the establishment themselves. But Avery, poor confused Avery, could only question the action of a mysteriously possessed chair.