Of Mochas and Macchiatos

Part 13

I get dressed in a beautiful black Oscar de la Renta dress and arrive in the lobby at 5:50. Curling up on one of the lush chestnut coloured Chesterfield couches I absentmindedly scroll through social media for a few minutes before switching my phone off and staring out across the floor. I scan the crowd, trying to find a familiar face.

"Looking for me?" Rafe quips, startling me and I'm glad that his usual flirty mood has replaced that cold dark one. Even though I suddenly realise that I don't exactly know which is the real him.

"You scared me!" I pretend to hit him and then give one last glance around the room. "I was looking for someone actually. Not you. I met a boy at the piano yesterday and I was hoping he'd be here today." Sighing, I turn to face Rafe and am surprised to see that his expression has darkened.

"You met a boy? Yesterday? At the piano?"

"Yes, Archer. Thank you for the echo. Why? Is it so hard to believe that maybe a boy would fall for me?" Rafe raises his eyebrow at that.

"No- I didn't mean..." He trails off and then in a quieter voice murmurs "No." But then the snark creeps back into his words and he seems to change his mind. "Yes, Angel, your whole ice queen act seems to be a bit of a detriment sometimes."

"Whoever said it was an act?" I reply, coolly, evenly. "Anyway. Contrary to what you may believe, this boy does like me. He was trying to teach me the Pirates of the Caribbean theme on piano."

"Oh? Trying, was he? What, he isn't a good teacher then?" Says Rafe, scornfully.

"Rich Boy Archer, what do you have against this guy? He's actually really nice." If you don't mind the constant innuendoes. I still can't tell if they're cold, calculated or just flirty and fun -like Rafe's own double entendres. "No, he was trying because I couldn't actually play the piano. My hand, remember? Also... I, uh, already know how to play it but I didn't want to say anything. I learnt it years ago."

"Wait, you play the piano?" He sounds incredulous.

"Yes. God, why are you always underestimating me? Are you like this with everyone or do you save your scathing remarks just for me, huh?"

"Just for you, Angel", he replies lightly, but I can see that he's a bit unsettled. Seriously. What is up with him? He abruptly attempts to change the subject as he holds out his arm for me to take as we walk towards the restaurant Laurent.

"Speaking of pirates, how's our boy Avery going? We've been neglecting him for a while." I wince, and I imagine that Rafe's arm tenses slightly. I have two options here. I can take the high road and try to be civil, amiable. Or I can build upon the ice queen that Archer believes me to be... take the low road, I guess. I choose the latter, still smarting over the fact that he finds it so unbelievable that a boy is interested in me.

"Oh, I finished that thing ages ago." I say, breezily.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Avery's done."

"What do you mean, done?" Uh oh, Rafe's starting to sound furious, but I resolve to stick to my guns or whatever people say.

We've stopped walking and our voices are now slightly raised. I readjust my feet, letting my kitten-heeled Stuart Weitzman shoes crunch in the skeletons of dead leaves. The air is tense with the cold of future snowfall and that arctic breeze stirs through the air, lazily, sweeping strands of my hair about my head and tousling Rafe's hair too.

"Archer, you wanted nothing to do with that thing. Remember? We were at the library and you ditched me to go fuck some girl."

Rafe actually flinches at that statement. At my explicit language or the bitter truth, I don't know, and although the spat out declaration has the effect I was going for, I don't feel any kind of spiteful pleasure, just shame. I feel his arm stiffen beneath my own and I quickly withdraw my hand from his shoulder and move to stand slightly away from him.

I won't say sorry though.

Because I. Am. Not. Sorry. I remember why I despise this boy, so. And even though I can just imagine MadeLucky shaking their heads at me, ashamed, I defiantly jut my chin out, daring Rafe to contradict the truth. He lets out a low whistle, brushing a hand through his hair and forcefully raising his arms in a kind of defensive gesture. "Well. You sure know how to ruin a night."

"Yeah, well, that's because I'm not one of your whores." Woah, so snarky Eva, what's got into you? I think I've fallen too deeply into this persona, this front, but it's too late to take it back. Rafe breathes out heavily and the condensation rises up in the cold winter air. I shiver. He notices. And although we're in the midst of the argument, he takes off his Yves Saint Laurent jacket, wordlessly, and drapes it over my shoulders. I wish he wasn't such a gentleman in that way; it makes it that much harder to hate him wholeheartedly.

"Look, can we just forget about all that? She didn't mean anything to me. I don't even remember her name." Rafe doesn't even realise how heartless this sounds, how similar he sounds to me, or my act- I can't tell the difference, nowadays. Nevertheless, he continues on. "Please. Can we just do this Avery thing together? We still have a few more days before school's back, before you leave; we can get it done by then." Have I ever heard Rafe say please before? He's probably never had to beg for anything in his life. I like this small act of power I've been granted. I feel like lording it over him and I let the uncertain silence settle over him for a few seconds before I answer.

"Yeah, well I won't be here for very long. I'll probably be okay to move back into my apartment in a few days. And I'll be so busy cleaning up the place and y'know, all the legal stuff, paperwork and whatever...."

Liar, spits out my mind. I got a call today that said it'd be at least a month or two before I can move back in. But I want to hurt Rafe, somehow. He stares at me, brow furrowed. I still haven't answered his question.

"Fine."

"Oh, no witty rejoinder?" Rafe quips, evoking our previous conversations. But he sounds weary and suddenly I feel slightly ashamed of myself for being so cruel.

Whatever.

*

The short walk to the restaurant is quiet. The streets still bustle with people, wrapped up against the cold with layers upon layers to protect them. I guess that's what the demeanour I've built up is. A kind of defence mechanism maybe? I can't let Rafe get close to me. I can't let anybody get close. Especially not some Astoria native. Inside, I know it's wrong that I am so prejudiced against this town but I attempt to keep my heart closed. People always let you down. It's a fact of life. Let somebody in, and they'll break you. And you'll break them.

And maybe this time, neither of you will ever heal.

Everything in me protests that it's wrong to behave in so standoffish a manner, but I can't just drop the act now. Not when I've practically convinced Rafe -and possibly even most of Astoria- that it's real. It's probably better for him anyway. I'm cursed. I know that it sounds crazy but I can practically feel a deathly poison coursing though my blood. Someday soon, tragedy will strike. And even though we're both in the warm, brightly lit atmosphere of Laurent having piping hot white truffle and beetroot soup for entrée, I shiver involuntarily again. It's like somebody has run their ice cold fingertips up my spine. I shake my head trying to clear these dreadful thoughts. But it's no use. Staring into the deep purple of my soup bowl, a thought comes to my mind. A memory that I've been trying to forget for a long time.