Story cover for Of Mochas and Macchiatos by AmberlyHuntress
Of Mochas and Macchiatos
  • Reads 1,452
  • Votes 249
  • Parts 35
  • Time 7h 16m
  • Reads 1,452
  • Votes 249
  • Parts 35
  • Time 7h 16m
Ongoing, First published Jun 28, 2019
SPRING AWARDS 2020 WINNER //

The pale splatter of my coffee juxtaposed against the blackness of the bitumen road is striking. All I can think is that it looks so reminiscent of those white chalk drawings, the outlines that people draw of dead bodies at a crime scene. That could have been my dead body. 

"Evangeline! Say something!" 

I turn my back on the ghost of my coffee to face him.

"You owe me a coffee." Did I say that? My words seem mechanic, disjointed. Rafe gives me a weird look before he replies.

"You owe me your life."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Evangeline Leger is a metaphorical mirror. Once a golden girl. Glimmering with aspirations, brimming with hope. Now she is broken. Her sharp, bitter fragments cut anyone who gets too close. A mere shadow of the girl she once was, she has become a shallow reflection of the person who used to own her heart.

And to top all that off, she feels as if her seven years of bad luck have coincided with the start of her first year of college.

Enter Rafe. Also known as Rich Boy Archer. When the universe (and a professor) throws the two of them together, Rafe and Evie become acquaintances, friends. Something more. And although Evie's sparkling façade does well to hide her dark past, she feels her mask slipping further and further with each growing moment she spends with Rafe. The ghosts of Evie's past still haunt her, threaten to spill into her new life.

Nobody can know the truth about it.

But, as Evie is about to discover, she's not the only one hiding behind a veneer.

Because in Astoria, everybody wears a mask.

And with dire misfortune and death following Evie as she navigates her new life in a game of shadows, somebody is bound to die.
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DIABOLIC SERIES 3 All my life I've lost my breath. It would happen over the simplest things, if I stretched too high to catch a ball, lifted something for too long, if I sneezed, if I talked. Other times I would loose my breath because I had a panic attack, or was yelling or being yelled at, if I was exerting myself on a physical level. Having the wind knocked out of me is a familiar feeling. But I didn't truly know what it felt like to loose the air in my lungs, loose the feeling that has kept my alive my entire life. I didn't loose it when I fell in love, I didn't loose it when I found out one drunken night with the girl I love would mean a baby, I didn't loose it when I found out that I'd actually be a father. No, I lost that when she told me that she doesn't love me. When she spit in my face how much she can't stand me, how I've ruined her life, that she doesn't want me in any aspect. I'm not her 'type' whatever that means, seeing as she quite willingly had sex with me. Her saying this made this ugly, lonely and depressing thought hit my diaphragm. Violet Thompson is carrying my child. And she despises me for it. The way I came to this conclusion was simple, Nonnie- -that's what I call her, since her middle name's Noel and I wanted something to call her that if I shouted it in the middle of a crowd, only she would turn to and know it's me- -told me that all she wants is someone there. A father for her baby, a physical presence. Not a mind, personality. Not a person. A body. A shell. I've been a dead man walking. And I was that shell, was just a body... until I found him.