hi. yeah, i don't know what i'm doing here. product of my boredom probably. this will be short. i plan on finishing this before christmas break's over. hope you like it. :)
Prologue:
The Coffee's Never Strong Enough
The flashing lights were blinding. He gripped her slim waist harder for support she couldn't give. He curled his fists as he turned to the crowd before him with the fakest of grins. The noise was deafening and it only served to worsen his throbbing headache.
The arm wrapped around her waist fell to his side once she started walking further down the red carpet. He glanced at her direction and found her wordlessly trying to tell him to follow her and he did. In the most robotic of ways, he did. Robotic was his life now.
They reached the end and he breathed a sigh of relief. He looked up to find her glaring at him, brown eyes ablaze and teeth clenched. She hated him. And he hated her.
The night had just begun but he was already so exhausted.
The sound of a bell dinging forced the pair of dull blue eyes away from the even duller words of a badly written script. Putting her pen down and wiping her hands across the faded green apron she wore around her waist, the coffee shop waitress stood from a stool and walked to the register.
"Tall Chai Tea Latte, please."
"3.50." Monotone. She was a walking monotone.
A drink served, a customer pleased and the sound of the bell dinging once again brought her back to the script she was reading earlier and she winced. She winced at the thought of the life she was living. She longed for a life far from this.
"It is true, Michelle. I left her. I left Sabrina. I'm in love with you, and only you." Oh someone save her from this God awful writing.
Claps echoed inside the theater. Some were standing and some were cheering. Apparently the movie was a success, but he felt like nothing but a failure.
He turned to her. She was standing and waving and smiling at the crowd as if she was the happiest woman on earth. As if she wasn't at all furious with him. Because this is what she cared about – the lights and the recognition, the claps and the cheers. She didn't care about him and she didn't care about them. He was just another thing to show off.
He stood and joined her like the good little boyfriend he was expected to be, but he wanted none of it if it meant having to share it with her. He wasn't in love with her and he was afraid it would show in his eyes.
She closed the door quietly behind her, afraid she would rouse the sleeping child down the hall. She hung her coat and purse and faced the pimply teenager who lived in the apartment above theirs. She handed her the money and showed her out, not a word slipping from her frowning lips.
She walked further into the cramped apartment, reaching the child's bedroom, opening the door. The room was dark, save for the flickering coming from the star-shaped night light in the corner.
She crept to the small bed occupying half of the room and sat down beside her daughter's sleeping form. She placed her hand on the little girl's cheek and choked on unshed tears as she noticed the contrast of her pale white skin to her daughter's olive-colored one.
But she didn't cry. She never cries.
She pulled the covers up and slipped under them. The child, seeming to sense her presence, snuggled up to her mother's chest and rested her small hand above her slow beating heart. She wrapped the covers around her and her daughter and held her close.
She wanted to change her life but she wasn't willing to change having her.
The door to the master bedroom slammed shut and he was afraid the glass windows in their house would shatter. He knew she could no longer stand his presence for tonight. Truthfully, he couldn't stand hers anymore either.
He walked over to the bar and made himself a drink. He felt the hot liquid burning his throat and clouding his senses. He closed his eyes and gripped his long, greasy hair as he made his way to the guest bedroom upstairs.
He fell to the bed, still in his expensive suit, and screamed.