A/N: This is a repost of a story that I am going to start trying to write again. Enjoy :)

Chapter 1

BPOV

I am convinced that people who are able to wake up in the morning and act as a full functioning member of society have something very wrong with them. Or they have figured out a secret that I have yet had the privilege of learning.

I guess that some people may argue that my irrational aggression stems from jealousy or even a deep-rooted bias because I can barely wake up on time and find it difficult to form comprehendible sentences before I have consumed at least two cups of caffeine.

Coffee and I haven't always been best friends. Coffee dependency used to be something that I disagreed with, but the black liquid has turned me into a hypocrite and I am now a slave to its sweet aroma and magical energizing powers.

"Why good morning Bella!" Angela welcomed me as I got to the front of the line. "I assume that you want your regular?"

I weakly nodded.

Angela just smirked because she knew better than to expect a verbal answer from me until later. I have learned that being on a first name basis with all of the Starbucks' baristas comes with the territory of being a caffeine fiend. Angela, however, was a special because I knew more than just her name.

Angela and I met two years ago when I moved into the apartment above Starbucks. That is another thing about being a coffee addict- you always have to be calculating and precise when it comes to knowing where your next caffeine fix will come from. When I moved to the big apple two years ago with a dream in my pocket and my brain full of hopes and ambitions I knew, before I even looked inside my apartment, that I would live there because of its location. Yes, in retrospect I have come to the realisation that my apartment is shit and my judgment was clouded because of the smell of coffee that wafted through the floorboards. However, I chalked it up to being a life experience, living in a bad apartment and whatnot. I never got around to moving because I am too lazy and have become too comfortable with my surroundings.

Regardless of my apartment's crappy insides, I am lucky to be in the location I am. I am only a block from Central Park and in walking distance of everything that I could possibly desire; well at least I think I am.

Angela and I quickly became friends after an awkward week or two during which she thought that I had some bipolar disorder or personal vendetta towards her due to my drastically different personalities displayed before and after coffee consumption. I don't blame her at all; it takes a lot of people time to figure me out. During one of the first conversations we shared, which didn't center exclusively on coffee, we learned that we both hailed from the West Coast. On the strong foundation that "we, West Coast girls, have to stick together if we want to make something of ourselves in New York" our friendly exchanges grew into a deep friendship.

Angela had moved from California to New York with her serious financial, Wall Street type boyfriend of the time believing that he was "the one." Of course things didn't turn out quite how she imagined. As they adjusted to their new life in Manhattan, he began to have more time for his business partners than for her- especially a particular leggy blonde that he swore was "just a friend." Of course she was smart enough to see through his lies of "working late at the office" when he started coming home at one and two in the morning. She ended up leaving him one night, without an explanation, deciding that she deserved better and moved into her own place and found her current job at Starbucks.

In the middle of her life transition she met Ben Cheney. Ben Cheney was the antithesis of her ex-Wall Street dreamboat. He was a modern day hippie street artist who believed in peace, free love, and legal marijuana. He worshiped Angela in the way that she truly deserved. I think that Angela's straight-laced, conservative parents, who believed in the sanctity of the American dream, are still horrified that their little angel threw away a life of comfort and stability for love from a man who they believed to be trash, but Angela had never been happier.

My story was somewhat similar to Angela's only mine did not include a man, a real one that is, only a figment of my imagination that I had tricked myself into believing would be just around the corner waiting for me somewhere in this concrete jungle. I found myself in New York, shortly after graduating university, pursing my dream of working in publishing. The dream of living in Manhattan came into existence around my eighth birthday when I had accompanied my mom on one of her many work trips. I was a goner as soon as I saw the bright lights and the buildings that stood as tall as the clouds. Twelve years later I kissed my mom, my dad, and my rainy hometown of Forks, Washington goodbye and moved across the country. I accepted a job as a receptionist at a new and upcoming publishing house within a month of arriving. I convinced myself that I would be able to move up in the company and one day become a publisher once I got my foot in the door; climb the proverbial ladder. It only took me two years, but I was finally was forced to read the writing on the wall. I would never move up in the ranks at the company and, if I didn't do something fast, I would be stuck answering phones, making people coffee and being the errand girl forever. I quit two weeks ago. I am now unemployed and trying to figure out what I want to do next.

I had a reality check in the midst of my journey that my fantasy man was not just around the corner and that he possibly might not exist. Thankfully, I also simultaneously came to the realisation that I did not need a man to complete my New York dream. I figured out that I had no desire to play the damsel in distress and did not need a knight on a white horse to save me. I taught myself how to fix the sink when it started to leak, kill spiders, and I could take out my own damn trash.

I really did try to smile at Mike, who was working with Angela today, as he handed me my coffee, but I think it came out more like a grimace.

"If I didn't know you any better Bella, I would think that the look on your face was a sign that you don't like me, but I know it's just because you haven't had a sip of your happy pill yet," Mike laughed at me as he tried to flirt. At least I think that he was trying to flirt. It was too early in the morning for this shit. It would be just like Mike to have deluded himself into thinking that the facial expression that he was giving me was sexy. Little did Mike know that my very real dislike of him had nothing to do with my lack of coffee. He was harmless, but still annoying.

"Leave the girl alone Mike," Angela said to save me from his incessant one-sided conversation. "You know that she can't interact with anyone until she has had her caffeine fix."

I quickly escaped, still not contributing to the conversation, to my happy place- my comfy, rusty coloured armchair that sat in the corner of the coffee shop.

As soon as the bottom of my spine connected with the plush seat, my body completely relaxed. I opened my newspaper, folding it in the way I had come accustomed to and took a sip of the sweet nectar that I held in my hand.

I took a deep breath in through my nose, held it for five seconds and then allowed it to escape out of my mouth.

My thoughts were finally becoming arranged in some sort of order.

I had my coffee. I had my newspaper. I had most of my sanity. My day could now begin.

A/N: I love reviews like Bella loves coffee. Please show me some love and let me know what you think!